Road Trip
by Cat123Ghost456
Summary: AU The Bad Touch Trio has fell in a disunion and as they're all struggling to find their place in the world, Gilbert calls them together for a road trip, sure to be the key to fixing the general unhappiness in their lives. Soon, the road trip draws in the 2 determined police officers, 1 cranky FBI agent, 2 mafia children and their bodyguard, a dimwit detective and a serial killer.
1. Road-Trip?

**AU—Hetalia Road Trip**

 **Author's Note** : This whole idea stemmed from me finding a picture on the popular app iFunny with a car with a sticker that reads "WARNING: We can't see shit because of this awesome sticker." I marked it off as Prussia's car and reposted it which someone added too (ShinyEeveeee) with the comment "Head canon where the Bad Touch Trio try's backing out of a mall with it and ends up hitting everyone but Spain is looking out saying, "Keep going. You're good. You're good. Don't worry, we'll buff out those scratches later, keep going,"-WHICH! Inspired me to think up a Bad Touch Trio Road-trip of pure AWESOMENESS! It's based like the movie Smokey and the Bandit with the cops chasing them across the country with some added mischief and lack of alcohol trade.

 **Story Note:** This will contain pairings, some obvious, others not as. There will be romance, there will be a serial killer, there will be kidnapping, there will be hit and runs, there will be cop chases, there will be FBI, there will be detectives, there will be violence, there will be heroism and best of all—there will be THE BAD TOUCH TRIO. Gilbert and Ludwig are not brothers in this story, and that's the only major change character wise.

 **Disclaimer:** Hetalia is not mine, I own a laptop, a remarkable personality, offers from many colleges and a squeaky clean record.

 **AND WE OPEN OUR STORY, ON THE KING OF THE WORLD-**

Gilbert groaned as he tore open the letter. Deft fingers ripped the envelope in half, his red eyes scanning the paragraphs with distaste. It was from his boss and he already knew what it was going to say, "Gilbert Beilschmidt on grounds of tardiness, irresponsibility and bla, bla, bla, you are being fired." Ugh, he hated that job anyway everyone there was unawesome. Huffing, he threw the letter aside.

The young man rolled over on his couch in his small apartment and sighed. Back in high school, the good ole days when he, Francis and Antonio could go on their own little adventures. O' all the mischief they would cause, the girls they would woo, the guys that would fall at their feet, Gilbert envied his past self that carelessly let it slip away. These days Franny was weaving in and out of the line that was the law—his little thievery habits were well known—and Antonio was working non-stop at that stupid little cafe his dad had left him. What had happened to their awesome trio; what happened to the adventures, the chaos, and the destruction?

His mind raced, remember the adrenaline rushes he used to have. The feeling that life was something more than the dull feeling of this work and mundane stamp-collecting brought. This summer, Gilbert thought with a grin, he would pull the trio back together for a road trip. Hell yeah, that sounds great. They could throw together same cash and talk and joke like old times. Maybe they couldn't do all the crazy things they did when they were younger, but they could do a lot more destruction and sleaziness than they used. Franny would be up for it, he was sure that the Frenchie was in town and probably looking for a break. Antonio could use one too; he's had his head buried in work for ages.

Sliding his phone out of his pocket, Gilbert called Francis first. Better to have his support to peer-pressure Antonio in going with them, because that numbnuts sometimes thought works was more than important than fun.

"Yo, Francis," Gilbert said when the ringing stopped.

"Mm, hello Gil," Francis murmured. "Why do I feel like you're dragging me into something?"

"Because I am. Two words, road trip; all summer, bars, casinos, hotels and chicks," Gilbert offered.

"And you want Antonio and me to accompany you on this hare-brained trip?" He questioned, and Gilbert could see him; Francis was tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear and scanning his schedule and wallet, already arranging a formula for his spending. Francis was going to say yes.

"Ja," Gilbert said cockily, propping his feet on his coffee table.

"Of course, I'll be by your house..."

"Tomorrow, we'll leave in two days," by the lack of complaining, Gilbert assumed this meant Franny didn't mind the late-notice early-leave.

"Will do, au revoir," Francis hummed.

"See ya," Gilbert hung up and dialed Antonio.

"Hola, Antonio Carriedo here," Toni said from the other end.

"Gil here," said man mocked, "How are you doing?"

"Ah! Bueno, muy bueno; life's been great," Antonio chirped and Gilbert could faintly hear him setting a coffee cup down; Antonio was at his café." Mi amigo, how are you, is your job going well?"

"Uh..." Gilbert glanced at the letter, "Oh, yeah, it's going great."

"Good," Mein Gott, Gilbert was just glad he was more oblivious than Francis was. "What's the occasion?"

How to phrase it, to get his workaholic friend to come with him… His mind fiddled with the idea of begging him with an agreement to go to that stupid farm-festival he enjoyed, but Gilbert still had regrets from the lack-luster beer they served.

"Uh, a road trip, you, me, and Franny."

A soft sigh, Antonio's hand had drifted from his cleaning to hold the phone with both hands, "Gilbert, you know I can't-"

"Just put a 'We're Closed' sign in the window," Gilbert pleaded, and did his best to use puppy eyes on the invisible Antonio in front of him.

"Gilbert," Antonio growled lightly.

"Antonio," he teased.

"No," Antonio said, "I'm sorry, Gilbert. Now's not a good time for me."

Gilbert lowered the phone and muffled it with one hand while he groaned. Antonio was better off security and money wise than both he and Francis were, yet he could never take a break. He kept the phone down for a moment and tapped his fingers on his leg, the dark jeans capturing his attention as he thought. Raising the phone to his ear, Gilbert prepared to pull every nerve he could.

"You have savings and I know you're doing fine paying off your college fines. You can spare going on a trip with us, after all, your parent's farm pays for most of your life," Gilbert argued, letting his tone drift off.

"No," Antonio repeated, he sounded distracted. Damnit, don't zone out on him, Gilbert thought.

"Hm... Do you have a boyfriend?" Gilbert asked.

"...Why do you ask?" Antonio queried, suspicion leaking into his voice. His attention was regained, but his tone had almost an edge to it. Gilbert couldn't tell if it was anxiety or irritation.

"Ya know," Gilbert hung upside down on his couch, "We could run into a cute guy why we're on this trip and you could finally score some," he said nonchalantly.

"I... How long are you talking? I don't want to be away from my cafe that long," Antonio caved, his voice a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

"Um...a few weeks," Gilbert guessed, "maybe sooner."

"Si, I can do that," Antonio said, marking something off on a piece of paper on his end, the loud scratch of the pen filling the space in between words.

"Franny gets here tomorrow, we leave in two days," Gilbert mentioned and he heard the pen fall.

"Ay! Mi amigo, that's not very long!" Antonio said, staring at the phone in outrage.

"Suck it," Gilbert said and ended the call. He had accomplished his goal; the Bad Touch Trio was going to reunite for the most kick-ass road trip ever. The Bad Touch Trio, as they had been kindly nick-named, never had a bad adventure, they were guaranteed awesomeness.


	2. Of Life Stories and Chicks

**Author's Note:** Keeping in mind I work on another story besides this one (it helps if I have two to counter writer's block) and that Junior year isn't hard, just requires a lot of work, I'll sometimes lax on updates. If I haven't updated in 2-3 weeks, someone private-message me and remind me. For both this story and It's Not Over I plan on writing a chapter a week, and publishing the chapter every 2 weeks. It will create hopefully a back-up ration so I can provide chapters even when I'm busy.

I was going to post a chapter Friday since that was such a short intro, but I'll be posting it today, due to time constraints tomorrow. The next chapter will go up not the following Friday, but after it or near it.

 **Story Note:** N/A

 **Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters are from Hetalia, and I claim no ownership. I do however claim ownership for the very complex plot that's going to unfold, and I request that if inspired by this story, do not copy the plot event for event. You have your own brain, it can lead you many places if you allow it to think for itself.

 _(Two Days later)_

"Antonio, not to be rude or anything, but how many bags do you need?" Francis asked, watching his friend struggle to the van, bags awkwardly strung on him like a pack mule.

Rolling his eyes, Antonio stuffed all four of his bags in the back of the van. All were bursting at the seams with items and various nick-knacks the Spaniard could not bear to leave. As he stuffed the last red bag in, he eyed the mattress in the back.

"Are you getting kicked out of your apartment again, Gilbert?" Antonio questioned.

"Um...nein," Gilbert answered semi-confused to what Antonio could be talking about until he followed his gaze, "Why? Oh the mattress, nah it's just for this trip."

"I hope we're stopping at hotels, I'm not sleeping on that," Francis muttered, unable to mask the disgusted look on his face. Antonio looked uneasily at the magazine and he shot a hopeful look at Gilbert.

"Ja, ja, you pussies. It's more for my sake, I hate getting road-sick," Gilbert said with a chuckle and threw his own two bags messily into the back.

Francis had only brought one bag and kept it in the back-seat next to him as he slid into the van. "You cleaned it recently," he said impressed.

"Ja, 'course," Gilbert said sliding into the driver's seat, "you act like I don't clean my van. My father did teach me to be meticulous, ya know."

Antonio hopped into the shot gun seat and began fiddling with the radio. He stopped it on a country radio station and happily settled into his seat with a small shoulder-bag with school work he had all intentions of working on, much to Gilbert's horror.

"Yo, Antonio, could you help me?" Gilbert asked.

"Si?" the man in question asked, looking up at Gilbert curiously.

"That sticker I have on the back window sort of blocks my vision, mind keeping a look on the side mirror and tell me if we're gonna hit anything," Gilbert said, spinning the wheel as he pulled out.

"I can do that," Antonio said, leaving the radio on a country station. He glanced at the side mirror, "You're good, you're good, wait-"

 _CRASH!_

"Did I hit anything important," Gilbert asked, "Or can I leave it for someone else?"

"The dumpster," Antonio answered nonchalantly, "Keep going, keep going, keep going-"

 _CRACK!_

"What was it this time?"

"The mailbox," Francis said simply, a smile of amusement flickering across his worn face.

He rubbed at the circles underneath his eyes as Gilbert's neighbor pulled aside curtains to narrow her soulless eyes at him.

"Ah well," Gilbert smirked, and waved to her as they pulled out, "We're on the road now, bitches, let's get rolling!" Gleefully, he spun the knob to CD and cranked the volume up and death metal poured out, like the Niagara Falls of hate. Antonio winced and turned it down, shooting a reproachful look at his friend.

Gilbert met his gaze head on, red eyes glittering with a challenge.

"Wanna fight me on this, Antonio?" Gilbert questioned.

Shaking his head, Antonio changed it back to radio, "I don't think death metal will influence you to be a safe driver."

"Oh, really?" Gilbert switched it back to CD, "I think this will make me better."

Antonio turned it back.

Gilbert turned it forward.

Back.

Forward.

Back.

Forward.

A mini-battle went on and the two slapped each other's hands. With a sigh of annoyance, Francis leaned forward and slid the dial to a rock station. Before the two could argue, he cast a dark glower at them, using his seniority to win the battle.

Defeated, Gilbert moved his hands back to the wheel, muttering about "no fun" while Antonio sighed and wistfully stared out the window.

The van surged forward, and Francis gripped his seat, gritting his teeth at Gilbert's driving. They nearly swerved into the way of oncoming traffic and ran a few lights.

"I hope when we hit the highway you get this under control," he snapped.

"Aw, lighten-up some, I think all those run-ins with the cops have messed with your good mood a little," Gilbert teased, trying to lighten the dark aroma surrounding Francis.

"I would like it if we weren't pulled over," Francis said and pulled out a magazine, fingers sliding quickly through it to find page with the right art piece.

Gilbert shook his head and to his displeasure, Antonio had pulled out a textbook. What the hell, they were supposed to be having fun? Pursing his lips, the albino glared at the bright cheery car in front of them.

"Why'd you both agree to go if you're just going to be bumps on a log?" Gilbert said to himself as they pulled out onto the highway.

Francis paused on his current page, and thought about Gilbert's question. "I'm not trying to, mon ami," he said, his voice as drained and lost as soldiers after a bloody battle. "It'll take me a few days to relax; I did pull of a bigger heist than usual."

Raising an eyebrow, Gilbert's eyes flitted to the rear-view mirror to look at Francis and then back to the road. He stuck his tongue out a little in thought.

"What kind of heist? Usually it's just valuable gems and the occasional painting, ja?" Gilbert questioned, his eyes scanned the gray interior of the car before darting back to Francis and then the road. Nothing showed on Francis' face.

"Usually," Francis ran a hand through his hair, untangling the dull blonde threads and staring disdainfully at the split ends, "and usually they go smoothly. I may have stolen something a bit bigger this time for an acquaintance."

"Money, diamonds, cash, a person?" Antonio chimed in, having been drawn out of his studying.

"My theft is of information," Francis said curtly, "and not the kind that is discussed casually around civilians."

Pointedly, Francis returned his attention to the magazine, his shoulders hunching in a silent warning to let it go. Gilbert frowned and switched lanes as he picked up his speed. Thoughtfully he tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

"Uh-huh, Franny, so what's this info for, or who I guess?" At this, Francis let out an empty chuckle.

"It's for a detective, who may have been playing a little dirty to get his information. He knows the mafia has a consigliore that's been finding other detectives and blackmailing or killing them for their information. He also wanted me to find the Godfather's name," Francis murmured a curse and his hands tightened on the magazine. "I stole the adviser's information and the last name of the Godfather," Francis said and took a deep breath, "I may or may not be a target of the mafia now."

"Mein Gott, Francis, what the hell?" Gilbert said, accidentally swerving into the other lane and barely did he avoid barreling into another car. Once the car was under control, he spared a look of outrage back at his friend.

While not perturbed by the almost near-death collision, Antonio had been interested at the mention of the mafia. His green eyes flickered with worry and his eyes tore away from the textbook to regard Francis with concern.

"Porbecito, por que? Why would you take that job, just… why?" Antonio said, disbelief coloring him.

Francis shrugged and leaned back in his seat, his eyes finding their way back into the magazine halfheartedly. "I needed money to get out of a bind, and I got it. My profession is not any of your concerns. You may be my friends, but you are not me."

The van was deathly silent for a moment. Antonio's shoulders slumped and he returned to his textbook while Gilbert reached out to turn up the music, but instead he resigned and clucked his tongue. Friend he may be, but he couldn't just let it go.

"But seriously, you found this information out? How big is this mafia?" he asked.

"They're an extension from Southern Italy," Francis said curtly, glancing at an advertisement for sunglasses.

"Mein Gott...Whoever thought one of was going to be a thief that throws his life on the line for the Italian Mafia's information," Gilbert said, with a low whistle.

He had hit a nerve. The tension in the van snapped like a rubber band pulled too taut. Gilbert wanted to lunge for his words and pull them back, but it was too late. The blue orbs of Francis rose to send Gilbert to damnation.

"So," Francis said, derision seeping into his tone, "While you two are prying into my life, how's yours Gilbert? How's your job at that music shop?"

"Uh..." Gilbert stared at the road with a lot more interest, "Great, just awesome."

"You were fired." Francis stated his expression one of grim amusement, "No surprise there."

"Yeah, I was fired, so my life isn't so great," Gilbert muttered darkly, so much for a fun road trip. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His red eyes bore into the road with such intensity, it almost seemed like he was trying to light it on fire.

"You were fired?" Antonio questioned, his green eyes hardened.

The albino shrugged, the action nothing more than his tense shoulders moving a fraction of an inch up and then down.

"Gilbert, you were supposed to be fixing your attitude!" Antonio reprimanded.

"Well sorry, I'm just too awesome to fit into this world," Gilbert argued and turned the volume up on the music. "Let's drop it, alright."

"Gilbert," Antonio sighed, his tone almost fatherly.

"He's right, Gilbert, you can't keep scraping by like this," Francis pointed out, earnestly his anger having fallen away.

Irritated, Gilbert turned around in his seat, causing Antonio to frantically to grab the wheel to keep the car from careening off a bridge.

"Shut it, like you two have any room to talk. You're always running from the law and making shady deals left and right, not once do you even stop by to see how your half-brother is? How's Matthew been doing, huh, I'm the only one who still calls him apparently?" Francis' expression softened a little at that and his eyes drifted to the ground. "You don't care about anyone, but yourself these days." Turning back around he shot a deadly glare at Antonio, "And you, you don't do anything, but work. When's the last time you've went to the bar, hung out with friends or had a social life? How's that for spending your life?"

"I-I'm here now, aren't I?" Antonio argued.

Francis snorted. Having shoved the magazine aside, he chose to look out the window dramatically, his head resting on his hand. "Oh, don't even try to reason with him. He's mostly right on both of us."

"Mostly, you wanna fight, Franny?" Gilbert slid back into his seat and resumed driving, much to Antonio's relief.

The bomb defused, the van fell into a comfortable state of silence. Francis smiled softly, some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. "Not now, maybe later," he said, "And it's amazing we're already fighting this early into the trip."

"It is," Gilbert said, nodding, "good thing I brought beer. Yo, Franny hand me one from the cooler."

"Don't crash us while you're drinking," Antonio grumpily said, returning to his reading. He chewed on his bottom lip as he stared at the page.

Francis reached back, grabbed a beer from the cooler, and wiped the condensation off before passing it to Gilbert's waiting hand.

"Antonio, grab the wheel while I open it," Gilbert ordered, taking his hands off the wheel to use his shirt to twist it open.

Hurriedly, Antonio lunged over, grabbed the wheel, and steadied it. Even though it only took a few seconds for Gilbert to open his beer and take a few languid sips, it felt like a few centuries to Antonio. They were going to crash; he was going to die a fiery death. After forever, Gilbert slid his beer in the cup-holder and grabbed the wheel, allowing Antonio to slump into his seat.

"If you're going to keep letting go of the wheel then switch with me or Francis," Antonio begged desperately.

"Nah, so how about your life story, how is your life going? Franny and I shared, so it's your turn. So, what's up?" Gilbert said, gently teasing his friend.

Shaking his head, Antonio leaned back in his seat, letting his textbook slide off his lap and onto the floor. He wrapped his arms protectively around himself. "Ah, mi amigo, I think you covered it all."

"How about contact from your parents, have you heard from them?" Francis asked, resting his legs on the other seats in the back of the van.

"No," Antonio sadly shook his head, "Mi padre still talks to me occasionally, but he's awkward about talking about my social life. Mi madre and her family refuses to acknowledge me as family after my 'coming out of the closet' spiel."

"I wish it was better for you, Antonio, you were the only one of us that really had close parents," Gilbert said with an envious smile.

"All the more reason that it hurts when they turn you away," Antonio mumbled, "new topic."

This road trip was glum, so far; Gilbert couldn't deny it. They were all moping over their lives. They'd been driving for a few hours, so he guessed it was time to pull over, stop at a convenience store, and fill up on gas.

The few minutes to the gas station were in silence. None of them daring to be caught looking at the other. Gilbert pulled into one. The red paint looking a little worse for ware and a few lonely truck drivers looked their way and then continued their talk.

Francis ducked inside; wanting to buy some coffee and Antonio made a trip to the bathroom. Swiping his debit card, Gilbert refilled the tank. While he was filling it up, his eyes lazily watching the numbers he noticed a little bird weakly chirping on the ground, its whole left wing was a bloody mess. Quickly, Gilbert finished filling up the tank. He wiped his hands on his pants and reached a hand out towards the yellow bird.

It pecked him on the finger.

It was meant to be.

Gilbert kept his hand there. The bird let out a soft _'Pio'_ and didn't offer any resistance when Gilbert scooped him up. He grabbed a water bottle and some of the napkins from the cooler and attempted to clean the bird's wing. Immediately, the bird pecked the crap out of his hand.

Cussing, Gilbert dried the bird off, earning himself a few more cuts. When all was said and done and both parties stopped harassing the other, the bird looked less dead. The bird ruffled its feathers and started using its beak to clean itself its way. He wasn't even sure why he rescued the bird, but he decided he wasn't getting rid of it. Maybe all that pecking was a show of its fierce personality. Its name would be...Gilbird!

When Antonio and Francis got back, both with snacks in hand, they stared in raw wonder at the little bird Gilbert had gotten to stay on his shoulder.

"Uh, Gil, you have something right...there." Antonio said gesturing to his own shoulder.

"Meet Gilbird," Gilbert said and the bird chirped in response.

"He gets crazier every time we leave him alone," Francis muttered, climbing back into his seat in the back.

"Si, next time one of us stays behind to babysit him," Antonio said.

...

 **END OF CHAPTER**

 **Reviews are nice, but not necessary.**


	3. Everything Goes Wrong

**Author's Note:** Translations at the bottom of the page.

 **Story Note:** I updated early, despite my promise of a chapter 2-3 weeks. Why? Well, I have a surplus of chapters done. Chapters 3-7 are currently completed and edited, which means despite my plans of holding them, I'll just keep releasing them since I've been managing to get at least 3 chapters done in the past week.

Reminder: Ludwig and Gilbert, fanonically, in this fanfiction, are not brothers.

 **Disclaimer:** Hetalia is not mine. The plot, however, is mine.

 **END OF CHAPTER**

Once everyone was situated, including Gilbird who awesomely sat on the dashboard, Gilbert swerved back onto the interstate, humming along to the Aerosmith song. A few cars honked angrily and he just waved a hand at the angry mom driving the minivan.

"I forgot to ask, where are we going Gil?" Antonio wondered aloud, his feet propped up as he slumped down in his seat.

"Oh yeah, it's in the glove compartment. There's like five possible places we could stop first," Gilbert said, reaching up a finger to pet Gilbird. He was pecked again. Eventually, they'd get past this lover's spat.

Antonio sat up and moved his legs. He popped open the compartment and pulled out the crumpled papers with possible destinations. He spread them out neatly and scanned the descriptions and directions to get there.

"Strip bar, Casino, Gay Strip Bar, Amusement Park and a Haunted House…?" Antonio looked at the options with slight amusement, "you sure know to pick them. What do you feel like doing; I'm not sure I know what sounds the best."

"Haunted House," Francis said with a small smile, "As much as I would love going to a Casino or Strip Bar, it's shown the same chemicals in the brain responsible for love and sex hormones are triggered by fear as well."

"That's creepy," Antonio murmured. "I wouldn't mind a Haunted House, but I don't think I'll like it if it's like the one where they drag you out when you _fail_. Those are terrifying, I don't know how you two like them."

"It's totally another one of those," Gilbert said and Antonio rolled his eyes.

"I regret being your amigo." Scanning the outdoors, Antonio noted how fast things were blurring by; they were easily overtaking many of the other cars on the road. He eyed Gilbert's speedometer. "You're over the speed limit, by seven numbers."

"So, like since when is there actually cops out here?" Gilbert chuckled.

As if on cue, a cop pulled off the road from where he was stationed and turned on his sirens. Gilbert's pale face dropped a few shades of white. The police car wasn't going to pass; it was trailing them.

The three went silent; Francis slunk down in his seat and rolled his window up, Antonio hastily stuffed the papers back in the compartment and closed it with a snap and Gilbert...sped up. His face was tense as he eyed the rear-view mirror and the red and blue lights blinking through the sticker on the back.

"Gil, you probably should pull over," Antonio mumbled nervously, reflexively reaching a hand up to chew on his nails.

"And what? I have a convicted felon in the backseat and I have three beer bottles just chilling up here," Gilbert grunted.

"Pull over," Francis commanded, "As long as you comply and I'll hide the beer, it should go smoothly. I doubt he'll recognize me

"Nien, make me losers." Determined, he checked the other side of the road with a quick glance and he did a 180 and pulled off onto a random exit ramp. Antonio screeched in surprise and grabbed the dashboard as the car swung. Francis' eyes bulged out of his skull and his head whipped around to stare at the cop car as it squealed to a halt. Gilbird flew from the dashboard to sit on Gilbert's seat, tweeting angrily. Once the car was steady and all of the passengers had caught their breath, Gilbert started laughing.

"Gilbert, estas loco!" Antonio shouted, glancing out his window as the cop car fortunately had fallen too far behind to pursue them.

"I'm awesome," Gilbert declared and Gilbird jumped and gave a loud _'chirrup'_ in response.

"I don't think we can call this awesome, but I appreciate the gesture at trying to protect me," Francis muttered, his eyes darting out each window, paranoid.

"You're welcome, Franny," Gilbert checked his mirror, "Can I get some gratitude for that, Antonio, I just lost that loser?"

"I'll thank-you later in jail," Antonio pouted. "It is probably best I call my papa and inform him I'm being jailed in—where are we?"

"Ooh, yeah, wonder how long we'd get for drinking while driving, ignoring a cop car and being friends with a thief. Wouldn't that look great to your professors?" Antonio smacked his arm. "Ruuuuude," Gilbert sang, "Gilbird, you think that was awesome, don't you?"

 _Pio~!_ The bird chirped.

"At least someone appreciates me," Gilbert said with a grin. He took a deep breath and relaxed in his seat, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"He could have our license plate you know, and our van isn't exactly forgettable," Antonio murmured warningly.

"You worry too much," Gilbert said dismissively and flashed a pearly white smile. "The face of awesome never ends up in a mugshot."

"What city are we in?" Francis asked, settling in his seat. His eyes no longer darted feverishly from window to window, but his shoulders were hunched far up to his ears in anxiety for the justice imposer.

Gilbert looked around for a sign as they drove past fast-food places and ugly looking houses. It's as if no one even tried, with the partially done paint jobs, yellow grass and trash sitting on the sidewalk. He shook his head.

"No clue," Gilbert said, "I'll check the GPS on my phone."

Antonio was about to argue about pulling out your phone while driving being idiotic, but luckily they were at a stoplight. Especially since, they had committed so many felonies already.

"Town?" Francis asked again.

"No reception dude, sorry. Why do you wanna know so badly?" Gilbert questioned, sparing a glance back at Francis. His friend shivered.

"There's something unsettling about this town," Francis said lowly, bouncing his knee up and down, his fingers curling and uncurling. "Let's just get back to the highway as soon as possible."

"Can do, I guess?" Gilbert chose not to question it and scanned for an exit.

As they drove through the town, the police car that had pursued them took a different exit into the same town. He was no state-trooper, but a rather respectable officer that had been driving back from a report of supposed gunshots. After searching the area, he had found nothing, but what disturbed him was it was the third time this week that area had reported gunshots. They really needed to post a squad car there. However, the small town was short-staffed on a police force. So many officers were on vacation, unfortunately, crime doesn't sleep.

Since the highway was faster, he used it as his method to get back to the station when he saw _that_ van. It was such an atrocious looking van, probably belonging to a man full of arrogance and an attitude to match its flashy sticker.

It was going to be a hassle dealing with the driver of that van. Impatiently, Ludwig had waited for the man to pull over when the man shot forward and did the stupidest thing; what numbskull doesn't stop for police, better yet throws their car, into what could be death, just to evade them. Gott, Ludwig was already tired of all the hoodlums passing through this town, and summer had yet to begin.

He hated the driver of that car, absolutely despised them. With a half-hearted sigh, he pulled over the cruiser at the coffee shop he knew his partner, Elizabeta Hedervary, would be at.

He ordered a cup of coffee and took a seat beside her. Lips pursed in a frown he tightly gripped his coffee, glaring at the table, imaging it to be the hoodlum who'd evaded him. She smiled at him.

"Aw, it's only one in the afternoon, why are you so glum? Who's crossed you today, Luddy?" she teased.

"Some arschloch who hasn't heard of the rules of the road," he muttered, sipping his coffee.

"Get his tags?"

"Nope," he stared at his coffee, "the bastard didn't even stop when I turned on the sirens."

"There are always those few that get away," Elizabeta said, patting him awkwardly on the back. "We're on break for the next fifteen minutes so try to cheer up. I got a call though from the boss." She pulled out a few files, "Those gunshots might be, because a big mafia figure has moved into our area temporarily. He doesn't take well to the small-town gangs poking at him."

Ludwig grunted and looked at the files, "Is this even our jurisdiction?"

Elizabeta shook her head, "We're just told to keep an eye out. So far, it's criminals shooting criminals. We can't really step in until they cross that barrier.

"Ja," Ludwig took a sip of his coffee, stared out the window, and watched a familiar van barrel past, rock music blasting from it. He dropped his coffee cup and reached for his wallet, threw down a couple of dollars and barreled out the door.

"Same person as earlier?" Elizabeta said paying her own tab and rushing after him.

"Ja," Ludwig glared in the direction of the van, "they must have a death-wish."

"Probably a couple of college frat boys," She said sliding in the shotgun seat.

They turned on the sirens and followed the road-trampling van. Elizabeta giggled. Ludwig shot her a curious glance.

"The sticker on the back of the van, it fits them," she said. "'This awesome sticker makes it hard to see shit,' it's funny."

Ludwig shook his head. The only thing he'd be laughing at was the expression the driver would wear when he was being arrested. A small smile graced his face at the thought and he sped up.

Inside the van however, its passengers weren't so happy about running back into the cop.

"Oh come on!" Gilbert shouted, slamming his hands on the wheel as he abruptly ran a red light and turned sharply.

"Dios mio," Antonio said through gritted teeth, "did you think they would just go away?"

"Well...yeah," Gilbert waved his comment off. "Which neighborhood streets should we take?"

"It'll be hard to lose them in a town of this size," Francis thought out loud, "I think I know one street we can take. This town is semi-familiar. Turn in three streets, to your left."

"Will do Franny," Gilbert stepped on it.

"They're getting closer," Antonio warned, glancing out the side mirror nervously. The cruiser was almost close enough to ram them.

"If they do follow us, their car will be getting stuck. You do still have those atrocious wheels on your van?" Francis asked, leaning on Gilbert's seat.

"They're awesome!"

"Good, because you're going to need them-TURN!"

Gilbert spun the wheel madly and the van lurched sideways for a second before regaining its composure and barreling down the dirt-road. Gilbird darted down to hide underneath Gilbert's seat, terrified chirping feeling the van. The occupants held their breath as the police car was nearly on top of them as Gilbert practically had his foot to the floor with the accelerator to get the hell out of there.

"This area will dip into where it used to be flooded, but now it's just really deep mud, don't slow down or we'll have a chance of getting stuck," Francis ordered/

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel unwaveringly.

"How close, Antonio?" Gilbert asked.

"They've fallen back some. Their cruiser doesn't do well on this road."

"Good," Francis said, relaxing back into his seat, "here comes the dip, let's pray we get through the mud."

A loud slurping noise and the van sluggishly dragged its wheels through the mud. There was a moment where it felt like the van wouldn't move, but then Gilbert felt the wheels spinning naturally again and the van pulled free.

Back in the cruiser, Ludwig swore and screeched to a halt as the van triumphantly shot through the mud and got to the other side flawlessly. He knew better than to drive through that area.

"Are they from here?" He turned to Elizabeta, who had been using the laptop to search tags.

"Nope, that car is from a city a good few miles from here. And by a good few, I mean they're not just visiting their neighbor town for fun."

"Owner of the car?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, he has a few noise-complaints, harassment files and DUI's that are known of, has a nasty habit of getting fired and is currently...unemployed. He was under suspicion for plotting with the thief Francis Bonnefoy a while ago, but he had a solid alibi."

Yes, this was exactly the kind of person Ludwig would hate. Locking him up would make him feel as if an early Christmas had arrived.

"Do we have reason to believe he's avoiding us, because Francis Bonnefoy is with him?" Ludwig questioned.

"Highly possible," Elizabeta said.

"Good, post his license out. We'll see if we can catch him before he leaves."

She grinned, "You two would make good friends."

"I hope you mean that as a joke," he said sucking in a reluctant breath.

"Of course, Mr. Rulebook," Elizabeta teased as they turned the cruiser around to try to pursue from a different road.

They missed the cheers and hollers from inside the van.

"Fuck yeah, we did it! Francis, get me a beer for that, Antonio want one?"

"I'm still twenty, mi amigo," Antonio said as he leaned his head out the window, trying to get over the anxiety attack.

"Fine, be that way." He and Francis clanked bottles and drunk on their good fortune.

Gilbert threw the three old bottles out the window and they continued on their way.

"So, Franny, how did you know about that?"

"This is the town I found the mafia information," Francis said casually.

"Uh...in that case," Gilbert's smile fell away and he held his beer bottle awkwardly before taking a long drink, "we better not stop, at all."

"Agreed," Francis followed suit, drinking a good amount of his bottle before putting it down.

Antonio wiped the sweat off his forehead and wiped at his mouth. He hadn't vomited, but his stomach still felt queasy. Today was filled with too much excitement. Exhausted, he slumped in his seat and closed his eyes.

They drove on in silence until Gilbert looked around the roads.

"Road to the highway, Francis?"

"We'll have to cut through some neighborhoods," Francis said and checked his phone, "Turn left in a few miles on the road that leads off of this dirt-road. We'll pass by a few mansions that may be mafia territory. As long as we don't stop or look suspicious, we'll be fine. The police wouldn't dare follow us here, not yet anyway."

Antonio rubbed his eyes and sat up. Dios mio, it still didn't feel safe to sleep yet. Maybe he would take Gilbert up on the offer for a beer, if it helped relax him. He lazily watched two boys walking up ahead.

"Wow, you sure know a lot about getting out of these situations," Gilbert turned off onto a paved road, and spared a glance at Francis, "How do you always know the way out? Like is it a thief skill or-"

"GILBERT, HIT THE BRAKES!" Antonio shouted.

"What?"

Gilbert turned around just in time to see two boys crossing the road. The two were arguing about something and the older froze in terror and threw his younger brother forward when he saw the van coming. The albino slammed on the brakes, but that wasn't enough to stop the van from hitting the older of the two boys."

They all sat there for a few moments.

The younger boy turned and looked at the van and started crying.

"Did we just kill someone?" Gilbert asked.

Francis looked at their surroundings and the mansion they were near, "Keep driving, that's the Godfather's vacation mansion."

"No, we have to see if the boy is okay!" Antonio shrieked, moving to open his door.

"If we get thrown off a bridge, never for our bodies to be found again, I blame you," Francis said, pointing at Gilbert and Antonio.

"Wait, is that one boy the only witness?" Gilbert asked.

"As far as I can see," Antonio said, raising an eyebrow.

"Good, we kidnap him, throw the other one in the back and drop them both off in the middle of the woods and say it wasn't us," Gilbert decided.

"Que? NO!" Antonio said, "I can't be associated with murder."

"You will be if we don't get out of here," Gilbert snapped.

Francis nodded, "On the count of three, Antonio grabs the dead boy, and I will grab the live one. Gilbert, be ready to drive off."

"Uno," Antonio muttered reluctantly

"Deux," Francis said, gripping his door handle.

"Drei," Gilbert whispered.

 **Translations: Spanish:**

 _Estas loco!_ : You're crazy (Note: accents are missing and this may be the formal way of saying it. Informal currently unknown).

 _Amigo_ : Friend (Male)

 _Dios Mio_ : My God (God of Mine)

 _Que_? : What? (Note, accent is missing from the 'e')

 _Uno_ : One

 **Translation: French**

 _Mon Ami:_ Friend

 _Deux:_ Two

 **Translation: German**

 _Mein Gott_ : My God

 _Drei:_ Three

 _Giel:_ (Just for fun) Awesome (if I rearrange the letters from my nickname, Geli, I'm awesome).


	4. Daredevil

**Author's Note:** Translations are at the bottom. Thank you for the reviews and follow/favorites. I'll edit the mistake in Spanish portion in the back, feel free to correct any failure in translation. I may be unable to edit and put the next chapter up until I recover. My wrists have been bad lately due to over-use from typing and I didn't stretch properly at my Cross Country meet and over-exerted my Gluteus Maxiumus muscle so I'll be unable to sit properly for a while.

 **Story Note:** Characters and their issues/titles (or will be by end of this chapter):

Antonio: Possibly involved with the cartels?

Francis: Professional Thief

Gilbert: Unemployed Jack of All Trades

Ludwig: Police Officer (a respected one)

Elizabeta: Police Officer (she's new—if you haven't caught on)

Feliciano: Godfather's son: (more dangerous than he looks—yet…not at all a threat)

Lovino: Godfather's son: (same old Lovino—just as tricky)

 **Story Question: Who should Gilbert end up with? Roderich, Elizabeta or Matthew?** Each of the Bad Touch Trio comes to a resolution, if you haven't caught on, their current lifestyles aren't the greatest. (Antonio's issue has yet to be revealed as of now). However, I know what I want Gilbert to end up doing, but not with anyone. The overall ending doesn't change, just the epilogue.

 **Disclaimers:** Characters = Not mine. Plot = Mine.

 **END OF AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Francis and Antonio shot out, leaving their car doors open behind them. The poor boy quivered on the spot was dragged into the car by Francis while Antonio gently picked up the boy and quickly jogged to the back of the van, opened the doors and laid him gently on the mattress.

"Antonio, hurry up."

The man closed the doors hurriedly and slid back into the passenger seat just as Gilbert shot off. He tugged the door against the force of the wind.

"Are we going to the hospital?" The shaking boy asked.

"Uh...yeah, sure," Gilbert muttered.

There was a groan and muttered cursing from the back of the van.

"Fratello!" The younger boy shouted.

"Antonio, crawl back there and see if it's alive," Gilbert said, checking his side-mirror for followers. The road remained empty.

"Si," Antonio crawled through the gap in-between the passenger and driver's seat. He awkwardly fell onto the back seat where Francis and the boy watched him, the first with amusement and the second with worry. He managed to slide over the back seat and fell on the other side practically onto the boy.

"Oof!" Antonio said.

"Get your fucking ass off of me, bastard, where the hell am I?" A voice from the back said.

"He's alive," Antonio said.

Francis was disappointed. Gilbert shrugged and scooped Gilbird from under his seat, the bird was asleep.

"Fratello, are you alright," The first boy said, leaning over the seat to stare at his brother.

"Where the fuck are we?" two hazel eyes glared threateningly up at Antonio.

"We're in my friend's van, we kind of-" Antonio started.

"Did you just kidnap me and—Feliciano are you here?"

"Si?" The lighter haired boy, Feliciano said hesitantly.

"Fuck no," The hazel eyed one muttered and Antonio looked down at him curiously. "Stop staring at me," He demanded.

"Why?" Antonio had drifted into a state of pure mystification. He knelt in front the boy with messy brown hair and hazel eyes with a strange curl. It was...adorable. And the way those eyes looked up at him with such...passion.

"It's creepy, what are you all, pedophiles?" the boy snarked, his hands clenching into fists.

Francis chuckled, "Non."

From the front seat, Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"I hate to interrupt," he started, "But when we thought that potty-mouth back there was dead, we planned on just dropping them off in the woods, what do we do now?"

"Fuck you, you...you potato-bastard!" The boy said, trying to sit-up, but groaned, clutching at his head. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"You hit my van," Gilbert said, but the boy was not amused at his joke.

Antonio sat down on the mattress and scanned the boy's attire, his nice clothes, though crumpled, and his leather shoes.

"What's your name, mi amigo?" Antonio asked.

"Wait...you guys don't have any idea who we are?"

"Nien," Gilbert said.

"No," Antonio said.

"Oui," Francis said and let out a sigh, "Mon ami, you have the worst luck in the world."

"Why do you say that?" Gilbert said.

"My _name_ is Lovino Vargas, son of the Godfather of the Italian Mafia's American branch," Lovino spat.

"It's a cute name," Antonio said and Lovino turned his glower on to him.

"I hope they shoot you in front of me, better yet, I'll pull the trigger. Fricking creep."

"And I'm Feliciano Vargas!" The younger boy piqued up innocently.

"Well, I'm Antonio-"

"Don't give him your name," Francis interrupted.

"Why not?" Antonio asked, honestly confused.

Lovino snorted and glanced up at Francis from where he was on the mattress, "What does a name matter when I can fully describe your personalities, voices and appearance?"

"Can we kill him?" Francis asked Gilbert and Feliciano started crying again.

"We aren't killing anyone," Antonio argued for the sake of Feliciano, "I know you two are criminals, but I'm-"

"You just assisted in kidnapping, you have no room to talk," Gilbert said shutting him up. "And no, we can't, because I don't want my ass hounded by the mafia and police."

"Both will still be after us," Antonio reasoned.

"All the more reason to kill them," Francis muttered.

"I want to go home, I surrender, white flag," Feliciano said through his crying.

"Shut up," Lovino shot at him, earning a look of surprise from Antonio.

"Would you like to sit back here with your brother?" Antonio offered to Feliciano, compassionately.

"Si," Feliciano said with wide, watery brown eyes.

"Non, you're a little too naïve. Don't put them together, they'll figure out a way out," Francis said, putting a hand on Feliciano's shoulder.

Lovino shook his head and stared straight at Antonio, putting on a faux pleading expression, "Feli is really weak, he needs comfort."

From the front seat, Gilbert cackled, "You suck at fake begging," he said through tears of mirth.

"Of course, we should let them sit together," Antonio argued. Feliciano smiled, his tears stopping. He remained hopefully gazing at Antonio.

"No," Francis and Gilbert said.

"But...why not?" Antonio didn't see the problem. He could handle a fight if he had to; he sometimes thinks his friends forget all about his experience with bull-taunting.

"Can we kill _him?"_ Lovino muttered, pulling himself up to sit up and pointing a finger at Antonio.

"...I would consider that," Gilbert said.

"Same," Francis said.

"Hey!" Antonio was offended.

"Antonio, make yourself useful," Francis started, "pat him down for weapons."

"Oh hell you don't, you are not feeling me up," Lovino said, tucking his knees to his chest.

Antonio raised his hands in defense, "I'll make it quick."

"If you touch me, I will make you regret it. You will feel the wrath of foot up your ass."

Francis steadily watched Lovino with suspicion, before deciding something. The guarded movements and Lovino's defensive nature meant, surely, he wasn't trained. He missed the calculating look in Lovino's eyes however as he regarded the Spaniard carefully.

"Your father kept you both spoiled and as far away from the mafia as possible, didn't he?" Francis guessed.

"Si," Feliciano said, "Does that mean you'll let us go?" The poor, innocent boy, while vastly skilled in the art of cooking, art and torture was not skilled when actually thrown into any situations where the last one was not already set up for him.

"No," Francis said and looked at Feliciano, "But that still begs the question of what to do with them?"

"STOP TOUCHING ME, FINE I'LL GIVE YOU MY KNIFE!" Lovino screeched, his cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

"I was only patting down your chest," Antonio said, cocking an eyebrow as Lovino gave him his knife from his back pocket.

"Do you smell that, Francis?" Gilbert said cockily from the front seat.

"What?" Feliciano asked.

"Oh I do, do you Antonio?" Francis smiled perversely.

"What the fuck are you even saying?" Lovino snapped.

"I think I smell, virgins," Antonio said with a free, light-hearted laugh and Lovino smacked him, but it wasn't hard enough to faze the Spaniard.

"I am not!"

"I am!" Feliciano said and relaxed in his seat, tucking his feet underneath him, "You guys aren't going to hurt me or my fratello, right?"

Gilbert nodded and flashed Feliciano a smile using the rear-view mirror, his eyes shifting back to the road, "Nah, we're just a couple of dudes on a road-trip."

"Are we just going to take them with us to the Haunted House?" Francis asked.

"I guess, that's where we were going till that stupid cop drove us off the road," Gilbert said.

"You three just kidnapped a Godfather's children and the first thing you can think of doing is continuing with your road-trip?" Lovino huffed, fiddling with the cross around his neck.

"That wasn't the first thing I thought of, but that's the plan," Gilbert said. "We'll just drop you guys off later."

"That could work," Francis said and slumped in his seat, "I need a nap and some aspirin. This gave me a headache." He let out a pitiful groan. "My precious years are slipping away from all the stress this trip has caused me, can you see it yet, Gilbert, I am a skeleton."

Antonio crossed his legs and held out his hand for the Italian to shake, "My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

Lovino just stared at the hand before crossing his arms, stubbornly pursing his lips.

"I don't like you," Lovino stated

"I know," Antonio said smiling, "but I can still try, you're sort of cute."

Spluttering, Lovino's cheeks reddened to a new level of fire truck red, "What makes you think that, you stupid bastard? What makes you think I'm into guys, huh? What if I like girls?"

"Me and my fratello like guys so don't let him discourage you," Feliciano interrupted, smiling.

"Fuck you," he said to his brother and then turned to Antonio, "Fuck—never mind. You would like that wouldn't you."

"Aw, you two are adorable," Antonio said, beaming. "How old are you, Feliciano?"

"Don't you even think of trying to flirt with my brother-" Lovino growled and shifted himself up so he could be more menacing.

"I'm seventeen, grumpy pants here is nineteen," Feliciano amended.

"Oh, gracias," Antonio said and Lovino kicked his leg, gaining back his attention.

"Why did you even want to know?" Lovino asked and leaned against the van, eying the bags and cooler with masked interest.

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't too young," Antonio said without missing a beat.

"Then why ask my brother," Feliciano chose this time to entertain himself with looking out the window, leaving the two to flirt in peace. Maybe, just maybe, he was a romantic.

"Because your brother gives me a straight-forward answer," Antonio said gently, sensing the Italian's distress.

"Oh...whatever," Lovino looked away from Antonio and glanced back to see the green eyes still watching him.

"Stop."

"What?"

"Staring."

"But you're too adorable not too," Antonio said smiling and sat down, crossing his legs.

Lovino looked out the partially blocked back window, and then back at Antonio to see his eyes still trained on him, watching him with a gentle light.

"I hate you, so much," Lovino decided.

"I'm okay with that," Antonio said. "Maybe you'll change your mind."

"Tch," Lovino closed his eyes, "you're crazy."

Soon the Italian dosed off and Antonio followed suit, not at all worried about the possible danger of a barely known stranger that's from the mafia sleeping near him.

Gilbert on the other hand, noticed with horror that the path to the highway was blocked by a police car; one that he was sure was the same one that had been following them earlier.

"Francis, wake up," Gilbert said quickly.

"Ve?" Feliciano questioned at the sight of the police car.

Blearily, Francis rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked out the window, "Merde, not again."

"Yeah, I know. They're about to be following us, but that path to the highway is blocked. Where's another one to get on the same highway?"

"That is the only one, I know of," Francis said.

"You have to be kidding," Gilbert angrily slammed his fist against the dash, shut off his radio and tossed his phone to Francis.

"Find another route," He snapped.

"It won't be on the same highway, we're just going to have to change where we're going," Francis said. Gilbert spewed curses left and right and thumped his head against the back of his seat, groaning.

"You're right, I do have no fucking luck," Gilbert muttered and started picking up the speed as he heard sirens.

"In about 3/4's of a mile, there's another route to the same highway. But the problem with this route is you need to be prepared to throw the car over another dip."

"Not through?"

"You heard me, over. The road is closed at this time of day, because the bridge is opening for the ship that goes through. It starts opening in two minutes."

"We're going to jump a bridge," Feliciano bouncing up and down on his seat.

"Yeah," Francis clipped his seat-belt, reached over, and clipped Feliciano's without a second thought.

"Antonio, wake up!" Gilbert shouted.

The Spaniard didn't stir, but Lovino did.

"Are those...sirens?"

"Yup, the police are back," said Gilbert.

"Well drive fucking faster, I can't afford to be caught either," Lovino said.

"Wake up Antonio for me, would you," Gilbert said, as if not hearing that statement. His eyes glued to the road and teeth gritted in fortitude.

"Why?"

"Because we need him to hold onto something while we try ramping this bridge, those two back doors can be loose."

"WHAT?" Lovino looked at him with terror filled eyes and glanced at the back doors and back up to Gilbert.

"You heard me, wake him up!" The man ordered, his own fear seeping into his voice.

With wide eyes and curses about the crazy potato-bastard and his friends, he reached over and shook Antonio roughly.

"5 more minutes, mama," he said sleepily.

"I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER, FUCKTARD; WAKE UP." He kicked Antonio in the gut.

"What?" Antonio said snapping awake.

Lovino gestured wildly at Gilbert, "Your screwball friend is jumping a bridge, hold onto something so you don't die."

"Mmkay," Antonio reached over and wrapped his arms around Lovino before falling back asleep.

"Not me," he hissed, trying to push the man off, but Antonio refused to budge.

"Everyone got a hold of something?" Gilbert shouted.

"Oui!"

"Si!"

"Si," Lovino reluctantly used one hand to hold onto one of the handles in the van, and the other to keep a hold on the Spaniard's shirt.

"We're approaching the bridge, in ten, nine, eight, seven," Gilbert started counting.

"I'm scared," Feliciano said, burying his face into Francis' shirt, who patted him comfortingly on the back.

"Five, four, three two-"

"Mon ami, I greatly under-estimated how far the bridge would be up, perhaps-"

"Blast off!" Gilbert slammed his foot into the pedal and the van hurtled forward, past the little gates that were still closing due to technical error, up the bridge that was steadily climbing higher and into the air.

For a frightening few seconds, they were weightless and the back car doors swung open. Lovino yelped in surprise and barely managed to switch his hold from the Spaniard's shirt to his arm before he could slip and fall to his death. The cooler resting near the back doors hurtled out, ice falling through the air and into the river below.

The car started falling and Gilbert lifted his foot of the pedal till they were right above the bridge and then stepped on it again, causing the van to land not so roughly as they sped down the other side and crashed through the rubber warning gates.

"I AM THE AWESOME GILBERT; NO ONE CAN CALL ME OTHERWISE!" Gilbert hollered, as they got on the highway, the three police cars that had been following them had stopped at the bridge.

Antonio didn't even wake up, but just snuggled into Lovino's chest to his horror. Feliciano pulled away from Francis, beaming and looked out the window in surprise.

"That was so much fun, wasn't it, fratello?"

Lovino looked at the still asleep Antonio and the missing cooler.

"Yeah fun, hey, potato-bastard, your cooler fell out."

"What? NOOOOOO, THE BEER." Gilbert wailed in agony.

Despite himself, Lovino lip's quirked a little and he leaned his head back against the wall of the van, wrapping one arm around the Spaniard. He'd worry about the fact that he was being cuddled by a creep later.

…

"How...how does one even succeed with that level of stupidity?" Ludwig said as he watched the van clear the bridge.

"I think it's impressive," Elizabeta remarked, tucking a loose strand of light-brown hair behind her ear.

Ludwig shot her a look of loathing.

"Oh come on, let's just go back to the-" Ludwig was interrupted by the buzz from the radio.

"This is control; we need Hedervary's cruiser to follow the van. We have reports of a kidnapping done by three unknown assailants in the van."

"Three? Is there an eyewitness report of all?" Ludwig said, picking up the communicator.

"Yes, one white-haired, distinguishably red-eyed man, classified as an albino in the driver's seat. A long blonde-haired man, recognized as Francis Bonnefoy, and someone of Hispanic descent."

"The first in question is Gilbert Beilschmidt, the second you know, the third may be known if we could have a warrant for Beilschmidt's home," Ludwig said and started backing out of the bridge area and driving to the other exit.

"Do we contact the station down there and ask for them to obtain a warrant for suspicions of kidnapping, harboring a criminal and refusing to aid a police officer?" The man asked.

"Yes, that would be helpful."

"So, ready for round three?" Elizabeta joked as they pulled out on the highway.

"Not at all, the sooner we wrap this up, the better," said Ludwig, staring icily at the road.

…

"We need some gas and I wanna have a mechanic make sure I didn't break anything with that jump," Gilbert said, "Any chance you know a guy nearby, Franny."

"As of a matter of fact," Francis smiled, "I do."

It was in an off-kilter location, but a lonely gas-station and garage were set against the backwash of prairies. Gilbert pulled the van to a stop and him and Francis got out, Feliciano said he really needed to use the bathroom, so they decided it would be okay since he seemed innocent enough. They left Antonio to babysit Lovino the in the van.

As they talked to the owner, Sadiq, Feliciano crept into the bathroom and pulled his phone out from where he had hidden it uncomfortably in his shoe. They really hadn't patted him down, because Feliciano was talented at playing innocent and could easily fake tears.

He couldn't shoot anyone and he may be easily scared at things, but he wasn't an idiot. Maybe they weren't kidnappers, but he couldn't afford to be away from home. He and Lovino would have targets on their heads by the police and the other rival mafias. Checking to make sure no-one was around he dialed one of his trusted bodyguards and the eyewitness to the crime.

"Ciao, yes it's me, Feliciano," he whispered.

"You are alright?" The other voice said, relieved.

"The circumstances weren't great; they were trying to get away from the police when they hit Lovino. I could have tried to lug him home or off the road, but it would have already given away our faces and identity. The blonde one in the kidnapping is-"

"Francis Bonnefoy, yes, as we're all well aware, he stole information from us," his body-guard said curtly.

"Mhm, they aren't the smartest. The albino's name I-"

"I used the police reports, it's Gilbert Beilschmidt, but I am afraid I do not know the Spaniard."

"Kiku, let me speak," Feliciano said curtly, "I don't have much time. I doubt they'll do anything, but desperation can make things _happen_. The other one is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. He's a little on the air-headed side and Lovino's using that to his advantage. We're not sure, but, Carriedo is the name of the-"

"Spanish Mafia that's been messing with us, and sorry. Keep him alive if you do happen to decide killing them is the best answer. But one question, why are the police following them?"

Feliciano could hear voices getting closer.

"No clue, Lovi still has his gun on him, but with his head injury he's not going to be firing accurately. I have to end it here, sorry Kiku, I'll keep you posted. If you can, find a way to follow us."

"I may be acting as a detective to follow this rather determined German officer."

"Thank you," Feliciano ended the call and slipped his phone between the skin of his back and the waist-band of his shorts as Francis came in.

"Are you alright?"

"Si," Feliciano put on an innocent smile, "I was just a little distracted. It's almost supper time."

"Oui, I guess it is," Francis said, "we'll have to pester Gilbert to stop somewhere other than a fast food place."

As he followed him out, Feliciano shut the phone off and put on that all too innocent smile.

 **Translations, French:**

 _Oui:_ Yes (please, fuck me)

 _Non:_ No (, I won't fuck you, your eyebrows are awful)

 _Mon Ami:_ Friend (male)

 **Translation, German:**

 _Nein:_ No

 **Translation, Italian:**

 _Si:_ Yes

 _Fratello:_ Brother

 _Ciao:_ Greeting/Goodbye

 _Pasta:_ Italian currency.

 _Ve~:_ Run mothafucka, it's the fucking Vargas bros and they gonna fuck you up.

(Don't take offense to these translations, I love all nationalities the same. Except I love the Spanish more, god their history is great).

 **Poll: Who should Gilbert end up with?**

 **Check the profile and cast your vote in. It's a live and open vote, if you aren't sure, but you know which one you don't want, check the results and decide which one you wouldn't mind seeing.**


	5. Bigger Than You and Me

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews. Still have yet to edit the Spanish. My wrists are slightly better, and hey, what I thought was a sprained muscle...was actually an infection. Yup, had it drained, it was nasty, still changing bandages, have a surgery over Christmas. But, hey, I can sit again!

 **Story Note:** The poll is still running. It will be for a while since Gilbert's crucial romance takes a while to kick in. We've had 8 voters so far, and here are the current results. In **First** : **Elizabeta** (4 votes), **Second:** **Matthew** (3 votes) **Last:** **Roderich** (1 vote). Like I said, if you're not choosy, but would rather see one over another, vote the lesser evil. If that person who voted Roddy would like me to create a new poll to choose between Mat or Elizabeta, I'll be happy to do that for you. You poor thing, no one likes your ship do they? I know that feeling. I feel you. Maybe I'll make a Roderich x Gilbert fanfiction eventually. I actually like all three of the main Prussia ships equally though. Anyway, may the odds for your ship be in your favor.

 **Second Story Note Aside From Poll:** Remember, I said the Elizabeta and Gilbert relationship was Mr. Stealyourgurl. I said it for a reason. You will see some development between Roderich and Elizabeta.

 **Disclaimer:** Characters = Not Mine. Plot = Mine.

 **End of Author's Note**

"The van's all good," Sadiq said, patting the hood.

"Thank you," Francis said earnestly and pulled out his wallet, "How much?"

The man shook his head, "None, that story Gilbert told me will be all the payment I'll ever need. Jumping a bridge, out running the cops, kidnapping mafia children," the man chuckled heartily, "you'll need everything you can on this trip."

"Heh," Francis ran a hand through his now wildly tangled blonde hair and desperately tried to comb it out, "tell me about it."

"Tell me how it ends, Francis," Sadiq said as he returned to his office, "I have a feeling it'll be worth every second you spent on it."

Waving goodbye, Francis slid in the backseat where Antonio and Lovino had shifted to join him and allowed Feliciano to sit in the passenger seat. Antonio was already dozing off again, his textbook lying open on his stomach and Lovino was twiddling his thumbs, eying Francis with distaste.

Francis sighed and leaned back in his seat as they took off. This migraine was never-ending, wasn't it?

…

"Pull over here, this hotel is serving as a meeting place. The case is currently not just ours to handle, but a detective has been pursuing their trail along with an FBI agent," the raspy voice said from the communicator.

Ludwig obeyed and as they pulled to a stop, he closed his eyes briefly, the day's events having exhausted him.

"You getting out?" Elizabeta asked him, her eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Yes, it's not like I have choice," he rose from the car, adjusting his holster.

"What's so bad about working with others?" she asked, swinging her arms exuberantly. "You were with me just fine," she pointed out.

Rubbing his temples, Ludwig shrugged, "I was hoping when they said a detective and FBI would be pursuing them, that perhaps the problem would be scraped off our plates and onto theirs."

"Apparently not," Elizabeta smiled, "think of all the experience and knowledge will gain from this!"

"Yes, I suppose we'll be fit for a promotion after all is finished," Ludwig said thoughtfully as they entered the building.

"Oh, you finally showed up. You two are fifteen minutes late, you know? I'm not a man that waits on others," said a very aristocratic, very stuck-up and in Ludwig's personal opinion, very aggravating voice.

"My apologies," Elizabeta said and smiled at the stern looking man with polished glances and orderly hair, all except for a cowlick standing tall, "my partner was just a little...anxious?"

The man scoffed, and motioned for the two to follow him to a small room.

"I was under the impression that the great officer I was hearing about with his just actions and orderly behavior would know how to keep calm in the simplest of situations, but I thought wrong," he sighed woefully and Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "You, my dear, seem much more trustworthy than him. I believe your name was, Hedervary?" he asked.

Elizabeta shot a brief apologetic smile to Ludwig before nodding. "Yes, but I never caught yours."

"My name is Roderich Edelstein," he said and held the door for her, but dropped it on Ludwig. The blonde grabbed the door and slid into the room.

Inside was a square table with four seats and a few files. Besides Elizabeta and Roderich, there was a shy looking man who kept his hands on his brief case and seemed very out of place. Maybe, if Ludwig was lucky, he could make friends with one other person being dragged onto this case.

"Hallo," Ludwig said and the black-haired man looked up at him, the emotionless brown eyes staring blankly up at him.

"Hello," he said curtly.

This was it; he was not making any new friends.

"My name is Ludwig; I'm assuming you're the detective we're working with?" Ludwig asked.

"That is correct. My name is Kiku Honda, but you may call me Detective Honda," the man said monotonously.

Mein Gott, he was a robot.

"Well, it is nice to meet you, what were you pursuing before this?"

The robot seemed to, for the smallest fraction of time—so slight Ludwig was sure he imagined it-become unsure. A hesitance, like it was making up something, but that couldn't be it?

"I was pursuing the third assailant in that van, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

"Really," Ludwig was surprised, "is he a criminal?"

He had never heard anything about this man; perhaps this detective was more astute than he appeared.

"Yes, he is a member of the local cartels. His background hints his father still had contact with him after his parent's split," Kiku said smoothly and Ludwig was impressed.

"He didn't seem like a very important person in the whole scheme of things," Ludwig admitted.

Earnestly, Kiku shrugged, "Perhaps so, but I believe if he still has some connections to his father he may be a criminal. However, I have been proved wrong."

Ludwig nodded, he had once had a case proved wrong by his old partner, but the way he proved it wrong was with his death. Sometimes he was afraid Elizabeta would suffer the same fate, so he vied for her safety.

"Are you two done gossiping, we should discuss the case at hand?" Roderich grumbled.

 _This man..._ Ludwig took a seat and nodded as Roderich started a small presentation on their plan of action. Meanwhile...

…

"We're stopping here tonight, it's cheap, it has a buffet, and I'm not treating you mafia brats to a 5 class dinner," Gilbert grumbled as he opened his car door and the back of the van, tugging out his bags. "I've checked out a room. We're sharing beds, don't act surprised."

"Why is he grumpy all of a sudden?" Feliciano asked Francis.

The blonde grabbed his own bag from his seat and clicked his tongue, "he's not very good with driving for long periods of time. Call it a childhood fear."

"Oh," Feliciano said thoughtfully, and he wrapped his jacket around himself. "We better get inside; it's a little chilly out here."

"Si," Lovino muttered, crossing his arms in an attempt to keep them warm. He turned to Antonio who easily had scooped up all his bags as they strode towards the motel room the group had checked out. "Do you by chance have any extra clothes that aren't as god-awful as the ones you're wearing now in those bags of yours?"

Frowning, Antonio scanned Lovino and then shook his head, "My clothes aren't going to fit you, not likely. You're a little shorter than I am. Ask Francis-"

"Non," Francis cut him off, not even glancing over his shoulder.

The two looked at Francis and Lovino just shook his head, "I don't want to wear whatever that rose-smelling bastard has worn. Just give me a jacket or something, or I'll get pneumonia and die."

Antonio paused and set down all his bags and shrugged his jacket off. He passed it to Lovino with a beaming smile.

"Here," he said.

Lovino looked at proffered jacket and back up at the Spaniard. Hesitating, he took it and slid it on, reveling briefly in the warmth.

"It didn't have to be the one you were wearing; don't you have an extra one in those bags of yours?" Lovino's tone was softer.

"No," Antonio's smile wavered, "Just school stuff and work stuff in there."

"Like what?" Lovino questioned and he started to unzip one of the bags. Antonio hastily pulled the bag out of his reach, gathered up his luggage like they were precious, fallen babies, and hurried into the hotel.

"Nothing," Antonio repeated again and Lovino jogged to catch up to him, striding beside the Spaniard with ease.

"Nothing?" Scoffing, Lovino quickly grabbed stepped in front of the Spaniard and ripped the bag open.

Packets of different substances tumbled out, bags that the Mafioso knew all too well.

"Drugs?" Lovino hissed, "You _are_ involved."

Panicking slightly, Antonio shook his head and made sure Francis and Gilbert weren't nearby. The first had already disappeared up the stairs with Feliciano, and had probably already made it to their room, while the second, Gilbert had gone to move the van out of sight of the highway. He stuffed the packets back into the bag, his movements erratic and frenzied.

"Your father?" Lovino questioned again.

"No," Antonio didn't look at him, his fingers clenched around a bag, "he did truly leave, but just because he did..."

"Doesn't mean _they_ did," Lovino finished and he felt a pang of sympathy for the Spaniard. "I know what you mean, but you don't strike me as the type to make it a lifestyle."

"I don't," Antonio picked up the bag again and smiled at Lovino, "I work hard in classes and at a cafe so I can live an honest life when it's over."

"It won't ever be over, you know that as well as I do," Lovino said through gritted teeth and looked away as the Spaniard finished.

The only sound that passed in the next moment was the faint sound a vacuum cleaner from the cleaning lady, an argument between a couple drifting out of a hotel room and the low hum of the bleak lights on the ceiling. Lovino met Antonio's eyes again and saw them sparkling with a vehement hope only someone like him could know.

"There's always a light at the end of the tunnel, Lovi," Antonio said wistfully.

A feeling, like thousands of wriggling spiders crawling throughout him, sent Lovino shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket and turning away. The pipe dream of the whimsical man was something he couldn't wrap his head around.

"I'm tired," said Lovino, "I'm going to the room."

"Lovino?" Antonio asked.

"What?" Lovino said and he regretted looking at him.

The image of light, of the sun stared back at him. The brown hair and tan skin combination radiating a symbol of warmth and summer days back in Venice and along the beaches in Southern Italy. He was handsome, he was gorgeous and Lovino hated him more than ever for being that way.

"Don't tell Gilbert or Francis about this, please," Antonio urged.

"I won't," Lovino promised.

"Thank you," Antonio said and that smile threw images of Lovino's worst moments back in his face. Lovino cursed the Earth he walked on and was sure hell was the only place going for him with what he did to people, but here was an angel working the life of a devil.

"Don't," Lovino said and Antonio's smile fell away, giving the younger man room to breathe, "Just because I'm not going to break up your friendships, doesn't mean I'm your friend or even someone you can trust. I will make you suffer, Antonio, the Italian mafia doesn't pay kindly to-"

"Did you know you look cute when you're supposed to be threatening?" Antonio teased, cutting off the Italian mid-sentence.

Lovino, with bright red cheeks and a look of utter mortification, debated whether to defend himself finish the threat or...go with it.

"I...you...forget it. Just be that way. Don't say I didn't warn you," Lovino said and slipped into the motel room.

He missed the small wave of disappointment and the quivering lip of the heart-broken Spaniard.

 **Well that's depressing. Like I said, the one person who voted for Roddy I can allow you to change that vote or maybe some of you can do what the people in my Creative Writing are doing and have their friends vote for their story. That's a thought. Message all your PruHun, PruCan or PruAus fans and try to sway the votes. The Missourians did it to the Kansans in the Antebellum days. You can do it too.**


	6. Hotel Mayhem

**Author's Note:** In the rough drafts we've made it to 7-10 are done. I may have to start slowing down on updates. It is really hard to type with these wrist problems.

 **Story Note: ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyylmao**

 **Disclaimer:** The story is mine, the characters are not.

 **END OF AUTHOR'S NOTE**

When Antonio reached the room, he was greeted by the site of just Francis reclining on the bed.

"Where are the twins?" Antonio asked.

"Bathroom, just bandaging up the bratty one," Francis said, his all-knowing eyes drifted to Antonio's face and he raised an eyebrow, a soft smile gracing his features. "It's been a while."

"Francis I-"

"Mon ami, I was wondering at this rate if you would ever fall in love again. I am glad your heart has found its other, but I pity you for who it chose," Francis gushed and he stood up to embrace Antonio in a hug. "Your heart chose someone that will surely have their father end your life right in front of them."

Antonio patted Francis awkwardly on the back, "Si, si. I'm not really all too inclined to talk about my feelings right now."

"Did he threaten to kill you?" Francis asked.

"Si," Antonio said and Francis held him out by the shoulders, and looked over him as a father would.

"Then that surely means he wants to get into your pants. Don't take it to heart, 'Tonio."

Nodding, Antonio smiled tenderly.

"You always know just what to say, Francis."

…

"Lovino, you wanted to speak with me?" Feliciano whispered as he turned on the water to mask their conversation.

"I did," he murmured and locked the door, "we're semi-right about Antonio being linked to the mafia, but not like us." Lovino sat on the edge of the bath tub and slid off one of his shoes to find his own phone...crushed.

Snickering, Feliciano handed him his phone, "What is he?"

Lovino sighed and threw his ruined phone in the toilet, "Just a pawn, the kind that are forced to do the drug trades."

"Oh, you don't sound too pleased about that, fratello?" Feliciano noted and his eyes sparkled. "My fratello is in love with him?"

"No, fuck no, no," Lovino shrieked than quieted. "Yes, but we both know with the situation we're in and our line of work, he's going to be dead." He rubbed the back of his head and winced at the pain. There wasn't a scratch as far as he could feel, just bruising.

"I know," murmured Feliciano sympathetically, "maybe you could help him. If he has any information on any of the movements of the Spanish cartels in the area...Papa would pardon him." Feliciano leaned against the sink and stared at the cracked white ceiling. "He could be a guard?"

Staring at the phone in his hands, Lovino shook his head and closed his eyes. "He wants a normal life; I'm not going to drag him into mine for my own damn greed."

"Lovi..." Feliciano whispered softly and reached for his brother.

"Drop it, Feliciano," Lovino growled. "Did you contact them?"

"Si," Feliciano took the phone back from Lovino since it was apparent he wasn't going to use it. "Kiku should be following us and in league with the polizia. We play the victims."

"Tell him to spare Antonio of the-"

"Mi dispiace, fratello, it's too late to make sure he's spared if we run in with the polizia. I told him to go with the lead," Feliciano whispered apologetically and his brother's hazel eyes drifted up to glare at him.

"Fratello?"

"Si?" Feliciano already knew what was coming.

"I'm going to kill you," Lovino growled.

"Mi dispiace!" Feliciano squealed and Lovino started rapidly cursing at him in Italian.

"Is everything alright in there?" Antonio asked from the other side of the door.

Both of the Italians froze.

"Si," Lovino said, "Just debating who uses the shower first."

"...Alright," Antonio padded away from the door and both brothers sighed in relief.

"I like baths better," Feliciano muttered, "but this place is probably all icky."

"Si..." Lovino sighed, "We'd better outrun the polizia then and have the mafia intervene before they do."

"Fratello, it'll work out, Papa's forgiving and Antonio will get on his good side," Feliciano reassured, rubbing Lovino's back.

He leaned into it for a moment before getting up with a soft groan at the hammer pounding in his head.

"Shower first, I'm going to go see if either of them have painkillers," Lovino said, exiting the bathroom.

Lovino slid into the room and spotted Antonio already passed out on the bed, having kicked off his shoes and collapsed. He'd rather ask Antonio, but he supposed asking the French—Lovino glanced around, the French bastard wasn't even in the room. Dammit, these were the shittiest kidnappers ever.

Maybe he could lay down and take a nap and the headache would go away. There were only two beds. One had the Frenchie's stuff on it and the other had the sleeping Spaniard. The first bed probably has herpes, Lovino reasoned to himself, and slid onto the bed with the Spaniard.

He wasn't enjoying this, not at all. Lovino closed his eyes and felt the bed shift, an arm wrapping around his mid-section. Shaking his head, Lovino snuggled closer to the Spaniard and let sleep take him.

…

Gilbert parked the van in a nook near the woods and glanced around it satisfied. It was hidden pretty well if he did say so himself. He was a professional at hide-and-seek. Gilbird tweeted from his shoulder and he chucked; this bird agreed with everything he said.

Strolling merrily back to the hotel, Gilbert spotted two officers and threw himself around a corner. What the hell? Seriously, can he not even get a good night's rest some place? He peeked around the corner to watch them. A tall officer with slicked-back blonde hair had his back to him, staring at a female officer and was that…an FBI badge! Well shit, Gilbert thought, he's screwed. The blonde officer rubbed at his eyes and waved good night to the other two before disappearing into the hotel main entrance. The female officer chatted up the FBI guy and Gilbert can swear on his dead-cat that he doesn't own he wasn't eying her butt, not at all; her butt was eying him, definitely. The two walked in the hotel together, laughing about a joke the FBI guy made.

He counted to a hundred before slipping into the hotel and sprinted to the room they'd checked out, not sparing a second to slam the door behind him and collapse on the ground. Antonio blearily opened his eyes and looked at him.

"They're here," Gilbert hissed and jumped to his feet.

"No," Antonio whined and snuggled closer to the Italian.

"We can't risk staying the night, we've gotta get out of here," Gilbert snapped and started throwing Francis' things back in his bag. "Where are Francis and the other one?"

Antonio sat up and released Lovino, causing the Italian to wake up. "I think Francis went down to the buffet and Feliciano is in the bathroom."

"Antonio, go find Francis, the cops shouldn't recognize you. You, Lovino, get your brother out of the bathroom, we can't spare time," Gilbert said quickly and threw all the bags in a corner near the door.

"I'll be fast," Antonio said and jumped out of bed, shoving his feet into his shoes before taking off. Lovino drowsily eyed Gilbert as the albino paced and anxiously. Sitting up, Lovino strode over to the door to the bathroom and knocked. "Feliciano, we have to go," Lovino muttered.

Feliciano opened the door, dressed and he stuck his lip out in a small pout. "I'm tired, fratello."

"The polizia are here," Lovino whispered.

"Already, that can't be," Feliciano said.

"I think it's coincidental," Lovino said with a shrug and sat back down on the bed and Feliciano followed suit.

"If it's coincidental, we're having some damn bad luck," Gilbert snarled and buried his head in his hands. "Just fucking great, Gott, I hate my life."

Gilbird pecked his ear and Gilbert lifted his head and stared at the bird.

" _Pio_ ," It said.

"Thanks, you're right, I am awesome and part of being awesome, is always getting out of trouble," Gilbert cheered.

"Lui é pazzo," Feliciano whispered to Lovino.

"Stato d'accordo," Lovino said.

…

Antonio jogged to the reception desk and asked which way the buffet was before going in the direction she pointed. While turning a corner, he crashed into someone.

"Ah, perdón," Antonio apologized, offering a hand to help the other person up. The small man accepted his help, his black hair ruffled from the crash.

So this was one of them, Kiku thought as Antonio dashed off again.

When he reached the buffet, he found Francis flirting with a blonde-haired beauty and had to pull the man away.

"What gives?" Francis asked Antonio, gazing longingly at the girl.

"We have to go, _they're_ here," Antonio mumbled, tugging on the Frenchman's arm.

"Merde," Francis cursed and followed Antonio as the two jogged back up to their room, Francis couldn't help but blow a kiss at the beautiful brown-haired woman in the hallway. A few seconds to late, he saw the police badge. Her eyes widened and she took off down the hallway to find her partner and Francis swore. It was an honest mistake, but now the police knew they were here.

When they reached the room, Gilbert was waiting for them.

"Alright, I got the bags and shit together. Let's get out of here," Gilbert said and took one step out the door and paled. On the other end of the hallway were the blonde officer from earlier and the female officer. They made eye contact.

Antonio and Francis quickly pulled Gilbert in the room and closed the door. Thinking fast, Antonio grabbed the desk near the door and with Francis and Gilbert's help, moved it in front of the door just as the police officer started pounding on it.

"Out the window," Gilbert hissed and darted across the room and slid it open. Gilbird settled on Gilbert's head and got comfortable as the albino scurried about. He grabbed both of his bags, slung them over his shoulder, scaled the wall, and hit the ground with a hard thud.

"Are you guys coming or what?" Gilbert shouted up.

Antonio and Francis exchanged looks and then looked at the bewildered Italians.

"Hell no, you're not making me go out the window," Lovino growled.

"This is the police, open the door now," shouted the officer.

The four of them froze and Lovino crossed his arms. "You go first, and you better catch me if I fall," Lovino hissed at Antonio.

Antonio nodded and grabbed his bags. He threw two of them out the window, slid the other two over his shoulder, and slid down the wall, barely catching himself as he hit the ground. Gilbert took his bags and his own and hastily darted to the van.

Lovino froze from where he sat on the window sill, eying Antonio with distrust. He lowered himself out and looked down to see the Spaniard smiling reassuringly up at him.

"Bastard better catch me," he hissed to his brother watching and Lovino let go.

The air rushed around him and he closed his eyes as two arms, barely, caught him. When he opened his eyes, Antonio was smiling at him.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He teased.

Huffing, Lovino pushed his way out of Antonio's arms and looked up at his brother Feliciano. "It's safe, come on, Feli," Lovino shouted up.

Feliciano shook his head and Francis had half the mind to throw him out the window. Antonio put out his arms to catch him, but the younger Italian retreated from the window, crying.

"He has a fear of heights," Lovino muttered.

"I'm sorry," said Antonio, "I didn't know."

"'S alright," Lovino said and sighed.

Francis looked helplessly down at them and back at the Italian when the desk crashed to the ground and the door gave. Grabbing his bag, he made a quick decision, climbed out the window, and scaled the wall with cat-like precision.

"Run," he hissed to Antonio and took off in the direction Gilbert had gone.

"Oh hell no," Lovino said, "We're not leaving my brother."

Antonio smiled in apology before scooping up Lovino and following Francis. The Mafioso snarled and slammed his fists against Antonio's chest, but Antonio didn't let go. They reached the van and Antonio pushed Lovino in and then slid in after. Gilbert closed the backdoors to the van and grabbed Francis shoulder.

"Francis, you're going to need to drive. I have something I need to do before we go," Gilbert said and Francis nodded. Gently, Gilbert plucked Gilbird off his head and set him on Francis's shoulder before sprinting across the grass and back over to the parking lot.

Francis slid in the driver's seat and turned the engine on.

Lovino, who had stopped struggling and spewing curses at the Spaniard, raised an eyebrow. "Where's the albino?"

"Yeah, Franny, where'd Gil go?" Antonio asked.

"He's going to do something. What exactly, I have no clue," Francis said, "But knowing him, it'll buy us some time." He turned the radio on soft jazz and leaned against the seat.

"Are we leaving him behind?" Lovino asked hopefully.

"Non," Francis said, "that's not how our friendship works."

"Yet you could leave my brother behind," Lovino grumbled.

"He'll be in good hands with the police, they won't recognize him and they'll treat him like a victim," Antonio reasoned, rubbing Lovino's shoulder.

"Tch, I hope so," Lovino said and pushed the Spaniard away.

…

Gilbert scanned the parking lot for the police cruiser. He'd worked at a mechanic shop once in high school and he was about to put his knowledge to the test.

With a thorough scan for possible eyewitnesses, Gilbert concluded he was in the clear and slid up to the police car. If he was right, this was an older model and the car alarm wire was attached right, here. Feeling a tad bit devious pulled his pocket knife loose his awesome dad had gotten for his sixteenth birthday. Gilbert cut the car alarm wire and chuckled to himself. Those pigs would have a harder time chasing them without their cruiser. He slashed the front tire on the left side and moved to slash the tire on the back when the hotel door opened up and the female officer rushed out, her gun pointed at him.

"Shit," he quickly slashed that tire and took off running, gunshots whistling near his legs as he ran. "Crazy bitch," he muttered.

He spotted the van and used every drop of energy he had left to get to the passenger side of the car and inside.

"Drive, drive, drive!" Gilbert shrieked and the van pulled out hastily and quickly darted onto the highway, its tires squealing against the asphalt as it roared off.

…

"Ugh," Elizabeta groaned and kicked the deflated tires. "I'll castrate all of them, especially that albino menace."

She slid her gun back in its holster and made a mental note to record how many bullets she wasted trying to stop the target from getting away. The attendant at the front desk looked worried, but Elizabeta assured her there wasn't any trouble and they had it under control. It had been a long day, but the encounter with the albino had her adrenaline going.

Ludwig ran into her in the hallway, the crying boy beside him was one of the boys that'd been kidnapped. It was a lead, if any.

"Hi honey, are you okay?" Elizabeta cooed, and the boy stared up at her.

"Si, I'm just a little scared," murmured Feliciano, "my big brother Lovino is still with them."

Elizabeta smiled, "We'll get him back. Hey, mind if we ask you a few questions and we'll even buy you supper, how does that sound?"

"Great, ve~, can we get pasta?" He asked excitedly.

"Yes, we can," she said to Feliciano and then redirected her gaze to Ludwig who looked disappointed, "Come on, grumpy pants, they got away, but we're one step closer to finding them."

He accompanied them down to the buffet and three found food and a place in the back. Ludwig had declined anything, but water while Feliciano and Elizabeta piled their plates high with the decent looking spaghetti.

"So, what's your name?" Ludwig started first and Feliciano smiled.

"My name is Feliciano Vantoss," he chirped.

"How old are you?" Elizabeta asked.

"I'm seventeen," Feliciano said, "even though I look younger."

Elizabeta smiled warmly, "That's the opposite of Ludwig over there. He looks older, but he's about twenty-two. All that stress makes him look like an old man."

Ludwig crossed his arms in response at the two of them giggling.

"Can you confirm the kidnappers names are Gilbert Beilschmidt, Francis Bonnefoy and Antonio Carriedo?" Elizabeta asked.

Feliciano nodded, "Si."

"Can you tell us anything about them, any quirks or any places they might be heading?" Ludwig asked.

Feliciano bit his lip in thought. He knew fratello wanted the mafia to catch them before the police, but it'd take longer and there'd be all this unnecessary violence.

"They mentioned that they were going to a haunted house and Lovino said Antonio was a wussy for being scared of the really scary ones," Feliciano rattled off.

Elizabeta pulled out her phone and searched nearby haunted houses that were open and grimaced. Even though they weren't in season, there were four different ones miles apart that were open.

"It could be worse, but that gives us for different locations. Two in one town, two in another," Elizabeta said.

"Thank you, Feliciano," Ludwig said, "Any other information."

Yes, there was more. "No," Feliciano said. "They don't talk about what they're doing much; they just talk about interests and joke around."

"Alright," Elizabeta said, "Do you have parents we can call? They must be worried."

Shaking his head, Feliciano smiled sadly, "They're on a vacation in Italy. They'll be back at the end of the summer."

Ludwig and Elizabeta exchanged glances.

"It wouldn't be that bad, and it might help his brother when we catch them to see a familiar face," Elizabeta reasoned.

Reluctantly, Ludwig nodded and Feliciano raised an eyebrow in question.

"Well, you can accompany us till we catch them hopefully in the next city. I suppose he can sit in the back of the cruiser, we shouldn't need to do any arresting-"

"One problem, Ludwig," Elizabeta said with an apologetic grimace, "the albino, Beilschmidt, cut our cruisers tires."

Comically, Ludwig's eyes opened and the vein on his forehead throbbed. "How the hell are we supposed to catch them now?"

"Well, one of us could ride with, Edelstein and you can ride with Honda. If you don't mind, Ludwig," Elizabeta suggested.

"I would like to ride in the same car as you, Ludwig," Feliciano said quickly, recognizing Kiku's name.

"Aw, he likes you," Elizabeta cooed.

The tips of Ludwig's ears turned red and he looked into his cup of the water. Elizabeta leaned over and whispered into Feliciano's ear, "He's really shy, this is his life- he has no social life."

Giggling, Feliciano watched as Ludwig excused himself and strode off, claiming he had to tell Honda of the arrangements. Feliciano could see this going two different ways. Kiku and he could play their roles of Detective and Victim, or, if the time was right, they could easily commandeer the mission.

Elizabeta yawned and stretched. "We'll have to pursue this is in the morning. Maybe, you can go see if Ludwig will let you sleep in his room."

Feliciano looked up into her sparkling eyes and gulped. She was terrifying. Was this officer really suggesting…? The giggle that followed that as she tugged Feliciano along with her confirmed it. Ludwig was cute and all, Feliciano guessed, but this officer was nuts if she thought she coerce them into dating.

…

 **Translations:**

 **Italian:**

 _Mi dispiace_ **I'm Sorry**

 _Polizia_ **Police**

 _Lui e` pazzo_ **He's crazy** (Roughly)

 _Stato de accordo_ **Agreed** (roughly)

 **French:**

 _Merde **Shit**_


	7. Back Story

**Author's Note:** Finally. I'm glad I've had a lot of back-up chapters, because WHOAH-NILLY, THIS SCHOOL YEAR. A lot of things are wrapping up, I got NHD (National History Day-it's a competition over history) project due for in-class presentation, a few more essays and finals coming up as well as this surgery. I'm not completely sure what this story is even about, I'm being dragged in circles here!

 **Story Note:** We'll slow things down for this section.

 **Disclaimer: See the other chapters.**

"See them behind us at all?" Francis asked.

Gilbert checked and shook his head, "Nope, we're good." He yawned. "I'm gonna go lie down in the back, if they come back, holler."

Carefully, Gilbert crawled through the gap, past Antonio and Lovino and to the mattress where he settled down with a snore. Lovino sighed drowsily and collapsed against the left window, staring out at the darkness illuminated slightly from the headlights. He glanced over at Antonio who stared forward at the bland seat with half-closed eyes.

"How did you guys meet anyway?" Lovino asked, breaking the silence.

Francis smiled fondly, memories coming to mind as he recalled the high school days. It had been his senior year… Jarred out of his fog, Antonio brightened immediately. It had been his freshman year.

"High school," Antonio started, "Gilbert was the new kid. He could probably tell this story better, but I'll recall what I remember. It was through detention we all met…"

 _(6 years ago)_

Antonio checked his watch and hurried to the detention room, not wanting to have more time added on for being late again. The warm sun of the Friday afternoon blazed through the windows, kissing his skin with the invitation of Soccer practice, but he reluctantly ignored it. With time to spare, he made it to the room to see he was the first one there.

The teacher glanced up at him as he handed him his note and clucked his tongue. "You're such a bright boy, Carriedo, but sleeping in again. If you keep going like this, you'll need to see a doctor. I thought your parents made you go to sleep earlier last night?" He questioned and Antonio shrugged.

"I went to bed at seven, but I still wake up around eight. Lo siento, senor, I don't do it on purpose," Antonio apologized, setting his bag and homework on a desk and settling into it.

The teacher smiled at him and shook his head, "I'm serious though, Carriedo. You may have a concussion or possibly another type of head injury with that much sleeping. It's not something to ignore.

Awkwardly, Antonio rubbed the back of his neck and stared down at his shoes…

 _(Present)_

"Antonio, did you ever find out why you had issues with sleeping?" Francis questioned and Antonio shook his head, his eyes flitting to Lovino with another story.

"No, I can't say. It's better now."

 _"Staying up late to do drug deals, Antonio?"_ mouthed Lovino, his mouth half formed in an amused smirk and Antonio valiantly shook his head, but paused and mouthed, " _yes._ "

"How did you get detention, Francis?" Lovino asked, practically spitting the French-man's name out.

"Well," Francis frowned…

 _(6 years ago)_

A tired senior strode in, late for detention. It would be a lie if he said, "I couldn't care less about taking an hour out of my afternoon to attend detention," especially on a Friday. Why? Francis knew his half-brothers couldn't be trusted to walk home from the middle school. They were four years younger than he was and in 8th grade, yet always found a way to end up in some sort of danger due to the dumber one's uncanny sense to find trouble.

Better yet, he wasn't going to feel like explain to the director of the boy's home while the school had called or why the two he had to walk home hadn't gotten home yet.

The teacher on duty didn't seem surprised to see him and took his note without further talk. Francis was in here every other week, mostly due to cutting Science; he was hardly caught stealing things for himself and his brothers. The rich had much to give, it was no wonder they never noticed any of it was gone.

The Spanish boy at the front of the room was already doing homework so he settled near the back closest to the window to think about graduation and the offer that had been presented to him by a friend of the director of the boy's home. He could get into college for his art skills, even without his science credits. Francis knew it was too good to be true and couldn't help but smile at the other offer he had been present from a corrupt police officer. Stealing a few knickknacks here and there and food was nothing, but being paid for stealing something bigger seemed risky, but he loved the idea, the challenge.

His life was going to get better; he wanted to go down that road, a road where he only needed himself. A pang of guilt struck him and his thoughts drifted back to his half-brothers. Pained, he threw the thoughts to the side and distracted himself with a doodle.

 _(Present)_

"…Francis," Antonio started, knowing the rest of the story, the offer he had taken, and the offer he had regretted leaving.

"They were better without me, Antonio. I felt the story would be incomplete if I left them out, they were the reason I started stealing in the first place," Francis said, his eyes were filled with sorrow, but his voice was still light. "I still keep in touch with Matthew, but it's hard to contact him without risking my location and plans."

Lovino's eyes had been glued to Francis with utter stupor and he was only tugged out of it by Antonio shaking his shoulder.

"He…he…he's actually a good person," Lovino admitted, causing the two men to chuckle.

"Franny here isn't a jerk or even a pervert; he's just been a bit of a rough time. He's fun once you get to know him," Antonio said smiling with a gentle chuckle.

"I'm still a pervert," Francis said with a wink, "Don't let that label slip, but I would never steal someone whose heart belonged to another."

"Oh, shut up," Lovino growled, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment, "I don't want to hear anything more about how you're not as bad as I thought you were."

Antonio's laugh was the loudest and Francis shrugged in the front seat, his eyes focusing in on the dark road. At the lack of cars, he spared a look at where Gilbert was sleeping.

"Should we wake him up and let him tell his part of the story?" Francis asked.

From the back, a voice grumbled, "I heard you all since Antonio started his story at the top of his lungs."

"I wasn't that loud," Antonio argued and Gilbert sat on his knees, leaning on the back of the seat with a sigh.

"Okay, I wasn't asleep at all, too paranoid to, but yeah I'll share," Gilbert said and he rubbed his blood shot eyes, bags starting to form under them, marring his pale skin. "I was a sophomore, transitioning in halfway through the first quarter…"

 _(6 years ago)_

"Ah fu-shit," Gilbert huffed staring at his locker as he spun the combo for the umpteenth time waiting for it to open. He was late for detention; his father had yelled his lungs out over the phone for Gilbert getting a detention two days after arriving and best of all, he had locked his jacket in his locker earlier and forgot the damn code for the locker.

Glancing around, Gilbert made sure the cost was clear before slamming his foot into the handle and to his relief, the door swung open to reveal…this was not his locker.

"Oh…that would explain," Gilbert said to himself.

Stepping aside past the mess, he rechecked his schedule and the locker posted on it. The number was 450, not 460. Ignoring the mess he made, Gilbert stepped to the side and hastily opened locker 450 and pulled his hoodie out.

The detention room was room 241 and this maze of corridors was not helping him find the damned place. It was 3:11, eleven minute passed the time he needed to be in that room. Looking at the blocky map of the school, he failed to notice the teacher scanning the hallways he bumped into.

"Sorry," he muttered and stepped to the side when the teacher caught his shoulder.

"Beilschidmt, you're late," the teacher growled.

This must be the room. Gilbert hurried inside and settled in the seat nearest to the door, flashing a smile at the teacher. The teacher gave him a dirty look.

"Alright, it's a Friday, and since he was late, the three of you will be staying till 4:30." Gilbert could feel the glares from his side and back digging into him. "I'll be at a teacher's meeting till five, but I'll send someone down to unlock the door and you'll be free to leave. If I hear any trouble or find my room in a state of chaos, you'll have another detention Monday afternoon, for two hours. Do I make myself clear?" The teacher asked and the boys nodded.

Sending one last cautious glance towards Francis and Gilbert, and a small nod towards Antonio, he left. Antonio returned to his homework, Francis to his drawing and Gilbert stared ahead at the whiteboard with a sigh. Leaning his head back, Gilbert stared at the blonde in the back with wonder. The blonde looked up, raising an eyebrow and staring at Gilbert pointedly. Gilbert flashed his signature smile again, hoping he would raise some chances at friendship. The blonde's eyes returned to his drawing and he didn't look up again.

Gilbert sat up and glanced towards the boy doing his homework. Despite the prolonged stare, the boy didn't even acknowledge his existence. Crossing his arms, Gilbert tapped his foot on the ground.

The motion brought to mind the awesome song he had heard earlier and unconsciously his fingers started drumming along on the desk in beat to the drums of the song. The boy looked up from his homework.

"Hey, would you please stop," he said.

Lost in his own world, Gilbert kept going, his taps getting louder and more energetic as he came to the bridge of the song in his mind. The blonde looked up from his drawing and his eyebrows ceased together. Using a spare sheet of Chemistry work he never intended to do, he rolled it into a ball and chucked it at the back of the albino's head.

Gilbert stopped his tapping and turned around in his chair to face the blonde, but Francis had already returned to his drawing. His eyes shifted to Antonio who was quietly chuckling. Picking the paper off the floor, Gilbert chucked it as hard as he could at Antonio. It hit him with a soft _whump_.

"Aye," Antonio squeaked and looked at Gilbert surprised. "It wasn't me that threw it earlier it was him," Antonio pointed back at Francis who had allowed a smile to form.

Annoyed, Antonio reached into his bag, crumpled up a piece of notebook paper, and threw it at Francis, knocking the pencil out of his hand. Francis looked up and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. He crumpled up another piece of paper in his bag and threw it back at Antonio. Soon it was a war. The three boys began throwing paper this way and that, and soon they started laughing.

 _Onhonhonhon~_

 _Kesesesese~_

 _Fusosososo~_

They paused at the sound of each other laughing and then burst into louder laughter.

"You…you two laugh so weirdly," Antonio said between breaths.

"Speak for yourself," Francis said, "What was the sound coming out of your mouth."

"My laugh was awesome, but I have to admit yours come in a close second," Gilbert declared and the two boys stared at him in surprise and then started laughing again.

The three failed to notice the door opening.

"What in the world have you three been doing? We could hear your laughter from down the hall—oh my lord, detention, all three of you, Monday," the teacher shouted. "Clean this up, now."

They were not as mad as they would have been earlier at that announcement. The three slid out of their desks and to the floor, picking up the crumpled balls of paper.

"I'm Gilbert, by the way," Gilbert said as the three met near the trashcan, depositing balls of paper.

"Antonio, it's nice to meet you," the Spaniard said with a grin.

"My name is Francis, and you two, aren't as dull as the rest of the students here," Francis said with a smirk.

"We should do this again or maybe something better," Gilbert suggested.

"We should," Francis agreed.

The two turned to Antonio who smiled awkwardly.

"Sure, why not?"

…

 _(Present)_

"And here I thought you all met at some gay-stripper bar," Lovino muttered, half-amused, half-surprised.

"Nope, just three high-schoolers with trouble in our back pockets," Gilbert said.

"How did you three stay friends, wouldn't Francis have graduated?" Lovino asked, noticing faintly Antonio had scooted closer to him again.

"That's another story," Francis said with a grin, "One involving a wanted poster and warnings to call the resource officer if I showed up in the school."

"We got time, Franny how about you take the lead," Gilbert said.

Antonio attempted to slyly snuggle into Lovino, and despite noticing the Italian moved his arm and let the Spaniard rest his head on his lap, making a soft sound like a purr. God, this jerk was so clingy. It would be a lie, however, if he didn't enjoy the attention.

Lovino leaned back and let the story wrap around him, his own past bitterly rising up like bile in the throat. It caught in his throat, and the story became a mindless buzz as he heard the words that were his childhood.

 _(4 years ago)_

"Why do you always let me down, Lovino?" His father said unexpectedly and Lovino glanced up from where he was cleaning his gun. "Somehow, you always manage to find yourself in the easiest situations, and yet turn them into something bigger."

"Mi dispiace," Lovino said, "I'll-"

"It's the opposite of your fratello. Why can't you strive to be like him, Lovino?" Lovino's heart fell. "No, wait no, I don't mean it like that, he's a little bit of a ditz outside mafia things isn't he." Lovino's heart strived again as the boy nodded. Romulus turned towards him with an admiring look. "You're stronger, you're wiser, yet you have the worst luck in the world, or you never use any of those qualities when in danger. You're more like your mother… You have her luck too, Lovino," he broke off in a low murmur and seized Lovino by the shoulders and embraced him in a hug.

"Lovino, don't end up like her, please. I may not say it enough, but you're my son and I love and care for you just as much as I do for Feliciano. I know I wasn't here when you were born and I wasn't there for the crucial steps of your childhood and you despise me for that, but Lovino you matter to me," Romulus whispered and held the boy tighter.

"You're lying," Lovino hissed and pulled away, crossing his arms. He turned his head to hide the tears. "I don't need you, I don't need Feliciano, and I don't need anyone, but myself."

"Lovino!" Romulus cried.

Angrily, Lovino strode out and he saw the other members turn to glance at him. He heard the gossip, how he was more like a prissy boy that should be living the life of a rich kid and not a mafia brat, how he was all bark and bite. He'd show them, one day he'd fucking show them. His little ditz of a brother didn't matter; someone would always take care of him, but who cared about Lovino? Who cared about the guy that fainted at the sight of blood, the guy who still got emotional and couldn't pass the test for keeping a steady grip on his feelings, the test his fratello passed with flying colors?

His family, did his family care? Feliciano should, Feliciano did, but Feliciano was…was such a dumbass, God, Lovino hated him. Why could he fail at everything and still do so great? He loved his brother, he'd do anything for that fucking dumbass, and he knew that dumbass loved him just as much, but…it didn't warm him. It felt like the bitter winters he hated in America, the ones that never graced his home in Italy.

Lovino groaned and desperately tried to lose himself in the tomato garden, desperately pushing away those nagging thoughts that said none of his hatred was ever for Feliciano. It was true, he never did hate his brother, but his father was another story.

Romulus, his father, had never been there throughout his infant-toddler stages. Mother explained he was busy and he couldn't afford to be home very long, and it didn't mean anything against Lovino. It was when Feliciano was born, when Feliciano was immediately coddled and loved by Romulus, when Romulus took Feliciano away to train with him while he was in Northern Italy—the hatred for the two of them reared its ugly head. It wasn't until Lovino's twelfth birthday that Romulus made reappearance in Lovino's life with Feliciano in tow.

All the hatred fell at the sight of the bubbling, idiotic brother. There was a quality, an aura, an inviting feel to Feliciano that made it hard to hate him and Lovino couldn't shake it. He avoided his younger brother like the plague up until his mother died when he turned thirteen. Feliciano had approached him crying at the funeral and had begged him to tell him a story about the mother he never got to know. Lovino's heart had throbbed in pain and he'd held Feliciano close and told him it was better he didn't know her, or it would only hurt more knowing she's gone.

However, he could not accept the very idea Romulus viewed him as a son. He knew the babbling dumbass that was his brother would stand by his side no matter the situation, but he knew if it came between Feliciano and himself, Romulus would gladly let Lovino die.

 _(Present)_

"Lovino," Antonio whispered and the boy looked down at the Spaniard staring up at him from his lap.

"What?" Lovino croaked.

"Are you alright?" Antonio asked.

Lovino closed his eyes and shrugged, "Yeah, life's great."

"…Is that sarcasm?" Antonio asked, snuggling against Lovino's stomach.

"Well no shit," Lovino muttered and had half the mind to just push the Spaniard to the floor.

"Will you tell me? Will you tell me, Lovi, what makes it so hard for you to smile?" Antonio asked, staring at the soft material of Lovino's shirt and he saw Lovino's chest rise and fall heavily.

"Si…I'll tell you when you're able to confess to your friends what all the _work_ you really do is," Lovino said harshly and he heard the Spaniard grumble.

"Why do you have to be so mean?"

Shaking his head, Lovino leaned on his arm and stared out the window, ignoring the Spaniard.

"Lovino?"

"What?"

"Te amo," Antonio murmured, "Even if you don't feel the same."

"Get off me, bastard," Lovino growled and shoved the Spaniard off, who caught himself before he could go tumbling painfully onto the ground.

Uneasily, Antonio sat up and spared a look at Gilbert and Francis who were still talking animatedly about Francis' sneaking into school events. He cast a sorrowful, puppy-dog eyed look at Lovino who rolled his eyes.

"I thought I made it clear. I. Don't. Fucking. Like. You." Lovino said slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"I know," said Antonio again, "I know…" He leaned away from Lovino and back against the opposite window and a short while later Lovino heard sniffling.

"Are you fucking crying?" Lovino questioned.

"…No," Antonio said quietly, but the sniffling continued.

God damn him for making Lovino feel like the most heartless bastard in existence. He wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut, but it did nothing to block out the Spaniard.

"Antonio, mon ami, what's wrong?" Francis noticed Antonio crying and Gilbert reached over the seat to pat him on the back.

"N-nada," Antonio whispered.

"Did the mean Italian stomp on your feelings?" Gilbert said after glancing over at Lovino who still trying to pretend he wasn't in the same plane of existence as Antonio.

"Si," Antonio said, opening his tear-filled eyes.

"Love hurts, he'll come around," Francis said sympathetically.

Lovino's eyes flew open and he glared at Francis, "I'm still in the same car as you three jerks, you know."

"What's that, Francis, did you hear an annoying buzzing sound?" Gilbert asked.

"No, all I heard was the wind," Francis said and Lovino groaned and pulled himself into a ball.

"I hate all of you," Lovino muttered, closing his eyes.

For the next few hours of driving, Lovino drifted into an uneasy sleep in an attempt to avoid speaking with any of the other passengers. His dreams were barren and revealed no answers, but his nightmares…His nightmares had grown to involve the death of Antonio. Maybe that, in itself, was an answer.


	8. Slow and Steady

Lovino was awoken by the bright streams of sunlight pouring in through the window and owlishly opened his eyes.

He looked out the window, at the dirt road, at the lack of movement, at the thick shade of trees and finally at the completely deserted area. They must have parked on an abandoned road…to get some sleep.

Lovino's eyes roamed the van to confirm this and it was true. Antonio was sound asleep, his head against the window and his lips parted as he breathed in and out. A little whimper came out of his mouth and he shifted in his sleep, huddling closer to the window. A nightmare? Lovino's hand ghosted over to wake him up then paused. Guilt flooded him from what he said yesterday and he retracted his hand.

His search continued and he found Francis had moved to sleep on the mattress with Gilbert in the back. He was stretched out languidly, his arm over his eyes to prevent light from striking their gorgeousness. Gilbert on the other hand, looked dead: his feet hung off the mattress and his arm was thrown awkwardly out and the other was trapped beneath his head as he drooled. Lovino didn't consider waking either of them up; they weren't morning people.

Reaching his arms above his head, Lovino stretched for a few moments and winced as his bladder and stomach sent him messages of despair. He was famished and parched, as noted by the rumbling of oncoming thunder in his stomach and the inhospitable desert within his mouth. To add to his distress, he had to piss and they were in the middle of the woods.

Rubbing his eyes, Lovino leaned forward, clicked the unlock-button on the driver's door, and let himself out. The sun beat down on the tangled mess that was his hair and Lovino flipped it off. It made him feel slightly better. He wondered faintly if he could just do his business and leave, maybe steal one of their bags as a thank-you.

Considering it, he eyed the van and gauged how far it would take to walk to the highway and hitchhike. It would be simple, easy and no trouble to him at all.

Yet, when Lovino slipped into the woods and emerged from them, wiping his hands on his pants, he didn't flee. He climbed back into the van and stared at the Spaniard. If he had to name one thing he didn't want to have, it'd be his heart. The idea of leaving Antonio behind with his last words to him being "I don't fucking like you" and "Are you fucking crying?" rang a sour bell in his mind.

He'd make it up to him. Maybe he could tell Antonio he really didn't want to kill him anymore or he was the closest he had had to a friend for a long time. Ugh, no, those sounded horrible.

Lovino innocuously cursed, letting the words slip out until he felt at least semi-satisfied.

The Spaniard whimpered again.

This time, Lovino shook him awake before he had time to regret it. It took a few shakes before the Spaniard blearily opened his eyes, gazing up at Lovino confused.

Say it, his mind begged.

"It's morning," Lovino said gruffly.

Not that, the other thing, it's only two words, his mind tried again.

Antonio nodded and stretched, popping his back as he let out a groan of pain at falling asleep in an uncomfortable place.

"Hey…Antonio," Lovino said, looking past the man and out at the squirrel climbing a tree.

"Hm?" he asked. Those brown eyes of his somehow had a gravitational pull, because the next thing Lovino knew he was caught staring into those captivating eyes.

"I'm…" _Hungry_ , _thirsty, tired, fucked up, lonely,_ his mind drifted through many words before he found the right one. "I'm sorry, for what I said yesterday," Lovino confessed.

For a few terrifying moments, Antonio said nothing and then the Spaniard grinned, his smile challenging the sun, a radiant wonder blinding him. He tackled Lovino in a hug and baffled, Lovino lay frozen beneath him.

"Gracias! I forgive you, Lovi," Antonio cheered, nuzzling Lovino's neck.

Lovino unfroze and wrapped his arms around the man grudgingly. He felt a wave of warmth flood his cheeks and he coughed. Whether Antonio noticed it or not, he was lying on top of Lovino and it wasn't as if it was uncomfortable it was actually the opposite, but all in the same. This was too much intimacy; Lovino's cheeks grew hotter.

"Yeah, yeah, Antonio, would you get off of me. You're…you're um squishing me," Lovino said and Antonio sat up sheepishly.

"Lo siento," he said, "I was just so excited."

"Yeah, I could tell," Lovino said and hugged Antonio, reveling in the warmth he emitted. "This…this is my apology hug," Lovino said, hoping Antonio couldn't see how embarrassed he was.

Antonio held him, his arms wrapping around Lovino gently and he purred happily, "Thank you, Lovi."

Lovino chose again to ignore the nickname. Right now, he and the Spaniard were even, he'd get on to him later for it. He didn't want to ruin the moment; he didn't want to see Antonio's smile fall away.

"You're welcome," Lovino whispered.

…

Mein Gott, Elizabeta was crazy. The Italian boy had talked his head off for a while before he finally collapsed dead asleep. Ludwig wasn't sure how he felt about this and he tucked himself towards the edge of the bed. There was an age difference and he was going to honor it, he liked to think he held himself to the most just sense of the world. Which is why partway through the night when the police officer awoke with the Italian's arms around him he quickly disentangled himself and decided maybe it wasn't a bad idea to try analyze which haunted house they'd likely visit.

He shivered at the faint lingering feeling gracing his bare arms from where the Italian's warm skin had touched him and he shook his head at those thoughts.

Combing a hand through his hair, he faintly wondered if 3:21 am was too early to gel his hair and get a start on the morning workouts. Donning shorts over his boxers he'd been wearing, he paused at the door and corrected himself. It would be rude to leave and irresponsible, especially since Feliciano was a victim of a crime and he may still be emotionally unstable. He guessed the jog would have to wait. Did the Italian run? Ludwig briefly eyed him and then shook his head. No, definitely not.

Ludwig glanced at the files again and focused in one the haunted house that was in the most discrete area. The first floor of the haunted house was partially a bar. Ludwig concluded by the advertisements displayed it, it would wind up through the basement and to the fifth floor of the building. Anyone who could make it through without allowing their customary heart monitors to reach above a certain rate would earn free drinks from the night.

That _almost_ seemed like the right answer, but it didn't sit right.

His gaze flicked to the seven leveled haunted house that was in busy area downtown surrounded by lights, police patrolled regularly and many people could recognize the thief if they paid close attention. It seemed idiotic, not to mention the haunted house didn't have much of a reward. It's the kind where when you make it to the top you're refunded your money and given a t-shirt. They don't use heart-rate monitors, but a system of how well the fun-goer avoids direct eye contact with the monsters and makes it through the maze within thirty minutes. They were each given a beeper that would go off after thirty minutes had passed. Either they made it to the top floor or they were dragged away. A terrifying haunted house…or in the words of Feliciano, "a really scary haunted house."

This was the one.

It was farther out, so if he got it wrong he'd look like a fool, but Roderich had been right in assuming he was no ordinary officer, but one that's intuition had led him to react quicker and smarter than most. Ludwig knew with a ninety-percent certainty he had chosen correctly.

4:35 am. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be leaving until 7 am after a meet up at six. Still, it wouldn't hurt to get dressed. By the time, Ludwig finished showering, dressing, gelling his hair, and brushing his teeth, it was 5:05 am. He supposed it was time to wake up the Italian. As gentle as he could, he shook the Italian awake.

"I surrender," Feliciano cried, throwing up his arms in defense.

"It's just me, Ludwig," the officer said and the Italian smiled nervously.

"Oh, I momentarily forgot where I was," Feliciano murmured and pulled himself out of the bed, stretching. "What time are we leaving?"

"In about an hour we'll be deciding on our course of action and then we'll set off from there," Ludwig said and Feliciano nodded.

"Okay," Feliciano said and sniffed his shirt and wrinkled his nose. "Hey Ludwig, is there any chance you have extra clothes on you that could fit me?"

"I'm not sure any will fit you, but I do have extra clothes." Ludwig opened his bag and rummaged through it. It wasn't as orderly as he liked it, but the trip had been short notice and he'd only had ten minutes to throw together the bag. He found a pair of shorts that were a little too tight on him, a smaller shirt. Holding it up to the Italian, he had to smile a little; it'd be like a dress on the poor boy.

"Will this be fine?" asked Ludwig, handing him the clothes.

"Ah, yes, grazie," Feliciano chirped taking the clothes. He slipped into the bathroom and emerged. He'd tucked the shirt in the back of the shorts, which only thank to the strings in the front had fit around his waist. The clothes were obviously too big for him, but the Italian looked satisfied. The Italian slipped the hoodie on he'd been wearing previously and smiled up at Ludwig.

"Are we going? Will we get breakfast before we leave?" Feliciano asked and Ludwig nodded.

"Yeah, we'll get breakfast," Ludwig said, zipping up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

Feliciano folded up his old clothes, tucked them under his arm, and jogged a few steps to catch up with Ludwig.

"What's your favorite thing to do?" Feliciano asked.

"My work," Ludwig answered and Feliciano eyed him strangely.

"That's all; do you really not have a life outside of it?" Asked Feliciano and Ludwig shrugged.

"I don't see a need for one. I have my dogs," Ludwig suddenly had a reflection on who was more of the robot, him or Detective Honda.

"Don't you ever feel sad?" Feliciano asked and Ludwig did in the moment. Well, not sad, but a little pathetic.

"There you guys are, hey what took you so long?" Elizabeta waved at them and Ludwig thanked mentally for saving him from having to answer that question.

"We were just talking," Feliciano said and Elizabeta smiled.

"Aw, that's nice. Is Ludwig being nice?" Elizabeta asked and Feliciano nodded.

"Well, we better get in the conference room," Elizabeta said and ushered the two into the room. Ludwig took a seat next to Detective Honda and to his surprise, Feliciano sat on the other side of the detective and started chatting his ear off.

Feliciano really was a social butterfly. Ludwig switched his attention to Roderich as he blew up a map with plots of the points of the nearby haunted houses.

"Alright, since there are now only two cars we can work with, Elizabeta and I will take the bottom two choices and Honda and the other police officer, can take the top three places. I have strong suspicions they'll be at this one above the bar."

" _The one I proved wrong,"_ Ludwig thought to himself, but didn't say anything.

"We'll most likely find it, and when we do, we'll call you. However, if you happen to find them at the other ones, you call me immediately," Roderich declared and he arrogantly dismissed the meeting.

"He is full of himself," Kiku said as they slid into his car and Ludwig seated himself in the passenger seat while Feliciano settled in the back.

"He is," Ludwig said with a groan. "I do however have a better idea to where they may be. Based on their combination of personalities and their desperation for attention, they will be at this one," Ludwig pointed it out on the map.

"Is that where we'll find Lovino?" Feliciano asked.

"Yes, I'm positive."

"I'll trust you on it," Kiku said and they pulled onto the highway.


	9. Dead Zone

"Gilbert, please turn down that music, I thought the point of being on this road was not to be noticed," Francis begged.

With his shirt off in mid-changing, Gilbert had turned the music up from the van and was dancing around to Final Countdown, air-guitaring. He spun on the spot and slid to his knees, his necklace glittering in the morning sun as he leaned his head back and mimed the bridge, his hands flying across imaginary strings. Gilbird tweeted from on his shoulder.

Lovino opened the car door, having changed into some of Antonio's clothes and stared at the albino with disgust.

"I'm blinded from how pale and ugly it is," Lovino muttered and Antonio laughed, having changed into shorts and a short-sleeve shirt and out of the jeans.

Suddenly, Lovino was dive-bombed by Gilbird much to the amusement of Gilbert. Lovino swatted the bird aside and wiped his hands off his shorts. He sported a similar outfit, but still kept Antonio's jacket on with the reasoning it was cold. What confused Antonio was why Lovino wanted to change in the car? They were all guys, there was no shame in changing out in the open, and it's not as if anyone could see them. Maybe it was his spoiled life. Lovino on the other hand still felt guilty for keeping his gun on him especially when he was being friendly with them.

"The rest of us are dressed," Francis said and strode over to Gilbert and pulled him up, "How about you get dressed."

"Yeah, yeah, mom," Gilbert said and slid his pants off and slid into khaki shorts with many pockets and a black and white t-shirt.

"Let's get going, we're going to the Dead Zone, same as last year—or rather what we planned on going to before Antonio chickened out," Gilbert crossed his arms and gave Antonio a meaningful look.

"Heh, it was really scary looking from the outside," Antonio said and turned to Lovino, "but you'll protect me, right?"

"No, I'll make sure you're my human shield," Lovino said, climbing into the back seat and Antonio followed him in, closing the door behind them.

"I guess I should protect you," Antonio thought aloud. "I'll be your conquistador."

"No, thank you, I don't want a heartless killer as my protector," Lovino said snidely, but he was smiling.

Francis slid in the driver's seat and Gilbert happily swung into the passenger seat and reached for the radio knob, but Francis swatted his hand away and turned the station to a pop-station.

"Franny," Gilbert whined.

"Deal with it," Francis said and slid on his driving sunglasses as they drove off. They only had an hour and a half before they made it to the city, it'd be around seven at night, since they'd slept most of the day away.

The van entered the city soon and Lovino and Antonio had their eyes glued to the lights twinkling around the van. The warm breezes filtering through the opened window filled the occupants of the van with excitement and Antonio smiled happily at Lovino who couldn't help, but laugh. The weight was taken off their shoulders and it floated out the window and drifted along with the many newspaper clippings fluttering in the breeze. All warned about the same terror, but what's the concern, he was a few towns away anyhow?

Francis pulled the van over at a very crowded parking lot where many people in glow sticks, laughing and talking gathered around the entrance to a building with fog filtering out of the open doorway. The sign next to the entrance read, "The Dead Work Year Round." Pumping his fist in the air, Gilbert rushed out of the car, hooting, and hollering he turned to Francis, Antonio and Lovino. Gilbird followed Gilbert out and rested on his shoulder.

"Alright, this is an every last man for himself kind of haunted attraction. The bet I wanted to do last year, is the person who makes it the top first gets to dare the first one to fail and the last one to make it to the top to do anything he wants, and they can't say no. Except, we're going to up the stakes, that's too lame," Gilbert pulled them into a football huddle.

"Whoever gets the most phone numbers wins. You're not limited to scarers; you can ask other people going through the maze. Loser has to do open Strip-Night at our next stop," Gilbert said earning grins from Antonio and Francis.

"Forget it, I'm out," Lovino said, but before he could walk off, Francis and Antonio hooked an arm around him and started dragging him to the door. "Hey," Lovino shrieked.

"Better not lose, or you'll have to strip," Antonio said cheerfully.

Lovino shrugged Francis off, but let Antonio keep his arm around his shoulders and drag him to the door. They waited in line for a few moments, Gilbert keeping up a constant banter of how many numbers he was gonna collect and how the awesome him would make it to the top first. They approached the door, and a scarer with zombie make up and a hatchet in one hand raised an eyebrow at Gilbert's hair color, but took their money and gave them timers all the less.

"We're not responsible for any losses or damages to personal items. We are a thrill attraction, keep in mind it's fake and you are not in any real danger," he paused and passed them glow sticks. "If you forfeit early out of fear, crack the glow stick and one of the scarers will escort you out. You have thirty minutes to make it to the top. If you do not, you lose and you will be dragged out. Please do not attack the scarers or each other while inside," the man rattled off, his voice taking on a bored tone. "Have fun, and good luck."

"Hey," Lovino started and eyed the guy's name tag, "I'm on a dare and I need phone numbers, mind giving you yours."

The guy scanned him, and then shrugged and wrote his phone number on the back of Lovino's ticket and passed it back to him.

"Thanks," Lovino said and he looked back at the rest of the group who were staring at him in surprise. "What?"

"You monster," Gilbert whispered in awe, "You're cheating."

"Am not, I'm doing exactly what the dare was," Lovino said, smirking, "Are we going inside or not?"

The four slipped the timers on their wrists and walked down the hallway where they were stuck in another line. Antonio leaned against the wall, slipping his ticket into his pocket. "I'll go first," Antonio said.

"Oh really," Gilbert raised an eyebrow, "I thought you were scared of these things."

"Not anymore," Antonio said, but Lovino saw his hands rapidly tapping on his legs. Antonio's shoulders were stiff and he seemed almost too afraid to move.

"I'll go second," Lovino said and Francis smiled.

"Third it is," Francis said.

"Yeah and the best is the last," Gilbert cheered, "I bet I'll get to the top before you all still."

The group of girls in front of them giggled and the boys' glanced at them. Putting on his best charming smile, Gilbert flashed it at them. To his large disappointment, the tall blonde of the group's attention was on Antonio and she slid up to him.

"Hey, is it your first time in one of these?" She asked and Antonio nodded and smiled nervously. "Oh, mine too; I'm really scared, are you?"

"I'm trying not to be," Antonio admitted and she laughed.

"It's nice that your honest, hey, maybe after we all get out of it alive, you can call me," she flirted easily and wrote her phone number on his hand.

"Alright, gracias senorita, you made me feel better," said Antonio and she pecked him on the cheek and hurried back to her group.

Lovino watched her go and scooted closer to Antonio unconsciously, leaning next to him on the wall. It wasn't jealously, that skank just looked like she had herpes. He was glad when her and her group was let into the haunted house.

They moved up next to the curtain where a scarer stood dressed in a defunct ringmaster costume. He gestured to a black mat with blue stripes glowing down the center.

"We'll be able to let you in about fifteen minutes. Once the timer passes over this mat, it will begin. Thirty minutes to make it to the fourth floor. It's a maze of sorts and you'll need to take it at a jog, just a fair warning. It has been done before, but you can only spend around seven minutes on each floor. When you reach the fourth floor, you need to look for the safe zone, it will be a pentagram lit up with blue lights and there should be the Safe Zone printed on all four sides of it. There will be a scarer that will disable your timer and you'll be free to get a refund, get a shirt and exit out the back," the scarer told and Gilbert nodded eagerly.

"I'm so gonna do it," Gilbert said.

"Have fun, mon ami," Francis said and turned his attention to the group behind them. A black-haired gothic chick and her friends sneered at him. Francis took this as a challenge. He smiled at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

She raised one of her own and her friends exchanged looks.

"You don't look like much of a horror fan, sure you're going to make it through Blondie," the girl asked and her friends snickered.

"I will," Francis said, "but the same cannot be said for you."

"See you at the top," she hissed and he smiled back at her.

"If I make it to the top, you should give me your phone number," he tried and she crossed her arms with a huff.

"Yeah, we'll see. First you have to make it up there," she said rolling her eyes.

Francis turned back to the group and Gilbert chuckled.

"You're _so_ not getting any numbers," Gilbert said.

"Speak for yourself, I only need one, enough to beat you," Francis said arrogantly and Gilbert grabbed him by the collar.

"You saying I'm going to lose?" Gilbert questioned.

"Yes," Francis said.

"Shut up, girls aren't immune to my charms," Gilbert said crossing his arms.

"You're flirting with the wrong people," Francis argued, "You would get numbers if you flirted with the right type."

"Am not, I'm flirting with the right people," Gilbert snapped.

"Guess, we'll see," Francis said as the ringmaster turned back to them.

"You can go in," he gestured to Antonio who took a deep breath, pushed through the curtain, and took off.

Lovino watched and suddenly his breath caught in his throat, he was terrified. His feet felt like lead and he was reluctant to go in. He looked back to where Francis was standing, his arms crossed and a smug grin resting on his face. Gilbert was tapping his foot and giving the blonde annoyed looks.

"You can go in," the ringmaster said and Lovino swallowed the lump in his throat and threw himself in past the curtains.

Fog machines blinded him and the strobe lights made it nearly impossible to see. Frozen in terror it took him a moment to find his sense of direction and he scanned the area. He turned left first, and his hand almost ghosted to where the gun was tucked on the waist band of the shorts before he slapped himself for being so stupid. He couldn't shoot the scarers.

He jogged past the first scarer without even batting an eye and slipped around the dead bodies decorating the floor with ease. One of the scarers, he could tell, was tailing him, but Lovino ignored it even when the guy swung around to scream at him in an attempt to scare him. Lovino ducked past him, his heart thudding in his chest, he spotted the stairs, and he smiled at his luck. In between the stairs and him, however, was a trap of sorts.

A few coffins were perched up, all closed, seven in total. Lovino squinted through the fog to look at the floor where he could see faint sensors, used to trigger the coffins open or warn the scarers of someone approaching. He tip toed around them, jumped over the last one, and jogged up the stairs. He'd done the first floor in five minutes.

This was easy enough.

A skeleton dropped down from the ceiling and Lovino nearly screamed before catching himself. He wasn't a wussy; he could make it through. The second floor wasn't as easy as the first; he could take one of the three different halls. Going with gut instinct, he entered the hall with spiders hanging down from the ceiling. Although being rubber it was creepy as hell to have to walk through cobwebs, especially when they stuck to his clothes. Something moved on the far wall. A giant animatronic spider moved towards him and Lovino stood his ground 'til the pinchers moved up to his face. His foot slipped, so he would proclaim, and he took a step back. He waited for the spider to go back to its earlier spot before continuing.

A man was waiting around the corner and he insistently followed Lovino, chattering at him and trying to make eye contact. He kept his head down and focused on a spot on the floor until the scarer gave up and moved to his next target. In the distance, Lovino spotted the stairs and started jogging there in relief when a scarer blocked his path, a battle ax strapped to his back and a colorful clown mask and Viking hat adorned his face. It would look utterly goofy and out of place, but the fake blood splattered up and down his clothes made him a remarkable sight. Lovino almost made eye contact, but glanced away at the last second.

"If you wanna pass you gotta get past me without me tagging you. Come on, try me," the man said, laughing wildly.

"Get past you?" Lovino asked.

"Yup, break my defenses," the man said.

"Hey, can you write your number down on a piece of paper?"

The clown man cocked his head in confusion, "huh, why?"

"I'm getting past your defenses," Lovino said smoothly and the guy paused for a moment and then laughed. "Oh, I get it, oh yeah. Hell yeah, you can have my number. We should hang out or something," the man pulled out a back of a receipt and a marker and wrote his number down sloppily. "Nice idea though. Next floor I recommend taking a right, straight and a left. Or you might just run into my friends," the man said and bounded past Lovino to terrorize someone else.

Being witty had its advantages. Lovino scurried up the stairs.

On the next floor, he followed the Ax-Toting-Clown-Mask-Wearing-Scarer's advice. It all went smoothly until he reached the end and encountered not one, not two, but four scarers. Two sat to the side of a throne, one sat in the throne and the fourth hid in a curtain, his eyes peeking out.

"Fucking trap," Lovino muttered under his breath.

"Oh? Did Mathias send another pour soul our way? The last guy couldn't handle it and left," a dull voice said, looking up boredly from where he sat next to a throne. His pale hair hung around his mask and he seemed disappointed by the appearance of another visitor.

"This is a dead end, but there's a hidden door to get to midway through the fourth floor, if you can past our scare test," the one sitting on left side of the throne added.

"Bring it," Lovino snarled and the four scarers exchanged looks.

"First test, stare straight ahead, and don't flinch or move a muscle," the dull one said.

Easy, this was elementary level mafia training. The figure on the throne fell away to reveal it was nothing, but robes and Lovino could feel a presence approaching behind him, a large, presence emitting an aura that almost caused him to shudder.

"Boo," it muttered in a deep and gravelly voice.

Lovino wanted to laugh. What the hell kind of scare was that?

"Ya passed the f'rst test," the same voice muttered again and walked around Lovino to sit in the throne, his. He wasn't even wearing a mask, just glasses and fake blood. Still, he was pretty horrifying. Something told Lovino this guy didn't get along well at social events.

"Second test, guess which one of us is Tino," the dull one said.

"Th't's not 'nything to do w'th scaring," the gravelly one said.

"I'm out of ideas," he defended.

Lovino scanned the three that had been talking then pointed to the one nearly obscured by the curtain.

"Him," Lovino said and the three seemed mildly surprised, but covered it well.

"Oh, well for you third and final test," he paused in thought, "you will eat this cricket."

He scooped a dead cricket off the ground and handed it to Lovino. The Italian regarded it with a look of disgust and looked back up at the scarer. He nodded.

"There better be water up there," Lovino swallowed the cricket and gagged, causing the scarers to laugh or chuckle in the gravelly one's case. Coughing, Lovino forced the rest of the cricket down, shuddering.

"You can move past, kid," the scarer stepped to the side and moved the curtain to the side.

Tempted to retch and spit the cricket back up, Lovino slid a hand over his mouth and quickly exited the room and climbed the stairs out. They weren't lying when they said it took him to the middle. Lovino found himself in the middle and could see a faint blue glowing nearby. He took off in that direction, keeping his mind blank and his eye's focused dead ahead. A blue lit pentagram, glowing in the black lights with a table with shirts, a cash pouch and a smiling man who was not dressed in the a costume, but just in a "Dead Zone Employee" shirt.

"Here you go," he handed Lovino the ten dollars he had to pay to get in and a t-shirt saying "I Survived the Dead Zone. "Do you need to wait on friends or can you exit now?" The man asked.

"Depends, has a Spaniard name Antonio made it?" Lovino asked, and the man shook his head.

"I think he got spooked on the third floor, he's probably waiting outside for you. You probably should go seem him, he looked pretty shaken," the man suggested and Lovino thanked him and headed out the back stairwell.

He saw Antonio sitting on a bench, looking out at the busy street with melancholy, his arms hanging loosely to his side.

"H-hey, b-Antonio," Lovino said, falling over his words at seeing the Spaniard in such a pitiful state.

Antonio leaned his head back, his eyes sliding up to see Lovino. "Oh, hola, Lovino; you made it through?"

"Yeah, I did," Lovino walked over and sat on the bench next to him. "I heard you didn't, thought you were a Conquistador."

Antonio looked at his hands and then shook his head slowly.

"No, apparently, I'm not. One of the decorations in there bothered me. What hallway did you take on the second floor?"

"The one with the spiders," Lovino recalled and Antonio wrapped his arms around himself.

"I didn't take that one, I took one where they act out a scene of you being held at gunpoint and told to get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. It was all fake Lovino, I knew it wasn't a real gun from the moment I walked in, but, I couldn't handle it," Antonio whispered and turned to cry into Lovino's chest.

Lovino held him and stroked his hair reassuringly, feeling the Spaniard shake.

"I had the same thing told to me as a kid, back when my padre was still with my madre and I didn't know. I didn't know what he did. They came in, angered that some money that had gone missing and they held us at gun point and asked where my father was. I was so scared, Lovi. I used to have a brother, but they pulled the trigger," Antonio murmured into Lovino's chest and the Italian's heart fell.

"I'm sorry," Lovino said and held him tighter.

"'S not your fault," Antonio said, his voice thick with a heavy heartache. "I'm scared, Lovi. I can't go through that again and here I'm falling in love with the kind of person that would be in that situation. The kind of person who's life could be danger every single day."

It pitted a seed of empathy and remorse in Lovino's gut. He pulled the Spaniard's face up to his and looked into his eyes.

"I promise you, if you ever get in the same situation. I will pull the trigger on the man thinking about killing you, your friends, or anyone you love," Lovino said and Antonio stared up at him, his eyes glimmering.

"Thank you, Lovino," Antonio pulled away and wiped his eyes with his shirt. "Let's take a walk; we'll catch up with Gilbert and Francis later. They're going to be hitting the bars."

"Yeah, that sounds fine."


	10. Two Truths and a Serial Killer

**Author's Note: Thanks, as always. I'm going into surgery in January and I've been dealing with a fever/infection that's immune to about four antibiotics so out of worry for where I'll be mentally, I'm posting more of what I have just in case I have anything more extensive.**

Lovino and Antonio left the bench and walked down the busy street, the various lights from street lamps and cars casting shadows across their face. Impulsively, Lovino grabbed Antonio's hand and the Spaniard glanced at him, smiling.

"Let's play two truths and a lie," Antonio suggested as they strode past closed shops and dress outlets. "I'll go first. I like the country, Francis and I tried to date, and my first pet was a turtle."

"You seem like a bumpkin, so is the lie you and Francis tried to date?" Lovino asked and Antonio shook his head. "You dated him, how the hell did you see something in him?"

"Francis was charming, but we couldn't agree on most things and decided to be friends. He wasn't the right guy for me," Antonio clarified.

Lovino chewed the corner of his mouth in thought and glanced at Antonio. "Did you ever kiss him?" he asked.

Grinning, Antonio shook his head, "No, I'm saving it for someone I truly love."

"And you made fun of me for being a virgin, yet you're one yourself," Lovino snorted.

Antonio waggled his finger at Lovino, "No, I said I never kissed anyone. I'm not a virgin, Lovi."

"That's…sad. You never kissed anyone you fucked?" Lovino question surprised.

"Made love with," Antonio corrected, "And no. Kissing is the most intimate thing there is," Antonio sai qith a soft sigh.

"You're a hopeless romantic," Lovino said with a smirk and stared at a closed pet shop as they passed it. "Your first pet wasn't a turtle?"

"My first pet was a kitten I named Senor Fluff, he died two weeks after I was gifted him," Antonio said sadly. "I was only seven and I remember the day clearly. It was really hot out and I thought it would be a good idea for me and Senor Fluff to go on a swim."

Lovino gaped at Antonio horrified and his jaw hung open wondering what level of stupid he should accuse the man of being.

"As you can guess, after I tried to let Senor Fluff swim on his own…" Antonio wiped a tear away for Senor Fluff. "He didn't make it."

Mouth still wide open, Lovino found the words he was looking for, "Y-you're so damn lucky you're an attractive bastard or someone would have strangled you for being so…so…"

"Lovi that's mean, I was only seven," Antonio pouted swinging their arms. "It's your turn, Lovi."

With his free hand, Lovino wiped a hand down his face to clear any more thoughts of how stupid Antonio could be. He stuck his tongue out in thought as he tried to find something to share.

"I once shot Feliciano in the arm, my favorite food is tomatoes and I've kissed someone," Lovino said and looked at Antonio expectantly.

The brown haired man closed his eyes in thought and smiled at Lovino, "Of course we have the same favorite food and I think you're charming enough to have entranced someone into kissing you, so you've never shot Feliciano," Antonio said and Lovino groaned.

"Dammit, yeah, I've never shot Feliciano. He once walked out in the way of my shot, but somehow it still managed to miss him. His luck is outrageously great, it makes up for his ignorance," Lovino said and Antonio laughed.

"Do you think I have good luck to make up for my lack of street smarts?" Antonio asked.

"Nope, you threw your luck away when you befriended those two morons," Lovino said.

"I can't argue with you there," Antonio said and the two were silent for a moment.

"Antonio, do you-"

He was interrupted by a messy blonde-haired kid rushing over to them, his blue eyes shining brightly behind glasses. In his hand, he carried a flyer.

"Sup, I'm Alfred F Jones, so, have either of you seen a man with pale hair, fairly tall," Antonio feared for a second he was talking about Gilbert, "violet eyes and this like death aura," the young man asked.

"Um…no," Lovino said and Alfred cursed.

"Damn, my lead was wrong. Well," he passed them his card, "call this number if you do. He's a serial killer and I'm pretty sure he's in this area."

"What…?" Lovino asked and Alfred waved him off.

"Oh, it's nothing. See, I'm like this detective's apprentice and he let me try to decipher the case for myself and he said I'm dumb, but every single bone in my body tells me he's somewhere near hear at this very moment, I can just feel it," the blonde rattled off and Antonio and Lovino exchanged glances.

"Should we be afraid of this serial killer?" Antonio asked and Alfred nodded.

"Oh, yeah, he's like a giant and kills people with this pipe he carries around under his coat. Apparently, he only kills who he considers dumb or rude, so as long as you two aren't either, you're cool," Alfred tried to reassure them.

"Alfred!" A voice shouted from behind Alfred and three turned to see an older blonde man rushing towards them. "How many times have I told you not to question random strangers? I told you your lead was wrong and you need to accept that," the man chastised, his thick eyebrows furrowing in anger as the Alfred chose to look away from the man and whistled innocently.

"I'm not wrong, he's near here and I'm not leaving 'til I find him," Alfred sang.

"Should we…should we go?" Lovino questioned gesturing behind him, his feet already turning in the direction.

The older blonde turned his attention from Alfred and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. "I'm sorry for Alfred here, he's been my apprentice for a few months, but he hasn't learned a thing. I'm Detective Arthur Kirkland and as this dimwit may have carelessly let slip out, yes we're pursuing a serial killer by the name of Ivan Braginski, but he _isn't_ " he shot this at Alfred, "in the area."

"It's okay, I think" Antonio said and Lovino let go of his hand and walked off back the way they came. "Where do you think he is?"

"A few hundred miles away in a much more discreet town, but I have to show Alfred that without doing proper research and jumping to conclusions, he'll be unable to properly solve a case," Arthur said.

"I'm not wrong," Alfred insisted. "I'm going back to the hotel and I'll show you _my_ proof. I'm right, you stupid caterpillar-browed jerk," Alfred snapped and strode off towards a motorcycle parked on the street.

He swung one leg over, flipped Arthur off, and kicked the stand up. His eyes glanced to the helmet Arthur had bought him, insisting he wear it for safety. Alfred picked up the helmet, and threw it into the street. Kicking the stand up, he revved the engine and took off, disappearing down the street.

"Seems like a handful," Antonio observed and Arthur took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh.

"Oh, he is; most kids like him are," Arthur explained. "At the a school career day assembly he consulted my booth and ranted about how he wanted to be a hero and in an attempt to get him into the job field I may have suggested this is like being a hero. He took one of my cards and later asked me if he could be my apprentice. The boys home he lived in had a deadline; you had to move out at the end of your senior year and he needed something to do with his life. I felt altruistic at the time and took him under my wing. He's like the younger brother I never had, but I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

Antonio nodded sympathetically and Arthur rubbed his eyes. "I should be going. He's going to stay up all night on a coffee binge just to prove I'm wrong. He hasn't matured yet, but maybe one day, he'll listen to me. Until then," Arthur stretched his back, popping out kinks. "I'll be dragging his arse out of trouble."

"Good luck, I better go catch up with Lovino," Antonio pocketed the card Alfred had given them and took off after Lovino.

…

Kiku pulled up to the haunted house and Ludwig scanned it with a grimace. This was going to be a nuisance to search through. The door attendant's eyes widened as he saw a police badge and the detective's stern gaze as the two approached him. Feliciano skipped behind them, looking at the outside decorations with curiosity.

"Hello, we are looking for three individuals known as Gilbert Beilschmidt, Francis Bonnefoy and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," Kiku said and the door attendant uneasily looked at the entrance to the building and then back at them.

"Look, I wouldn't know anyone's names that go in here. People pay cash and then get on their way inside," the man said.

"Would it jar your memory if I mentioned one had white hair, red eyes and was an albino, one was a Frenchman and the other a Spaniard, would you recognize them?"

"Who was that Italian guy that was with them?" the door attendant questioned, the memory of the boisterously loud group flooding through his memory.

"They were here," Ludwig confirmed. "Have they exited?"

"Um, yeah, I think, maybe," the guy said uncertainly.

"Mind if we search the building," Kiku said, "and talk to some of the employees?"

"No, but can you guys go through the back entrance and be a little inconspicuous; you're scaring away customers," the man suggested and Ludwig agreed with a solemn nod.

Kiku and he swiftly walked to the back exit where a group of girls dressed in gothic attire stood smoking. Feliciano followed behind them looking wildly around the area and then hurried to catch up with the Ludwig.

"Hey, Luddy, can I call you Luddy?" Feliciano asked and the officer wanted to say 'no,' but he nodded instead. "Hey Luddy, can I hold onto your arm if it's scary inside of there?"

"Uh…sure," Ludwig said and Feliciano brightened.

"Grazie," Feliciano said and Ludwig wondered faintly if those girls would know anything.

"Hallo," Ludwig said and the gaggle of girls black outlined eyes narrowed in on them. "We are looking for a group of criminals, and we wondering if you happened to see them. They would have been a group of four: an albino, a man of French descent and a Spanish man and an Italian."

The girls exchanged looks, silently debating whether to tell the officer.

"Yeah, I saw them. I challenged the blonde one, the Frenchie, to a bet. I'd give him my phone number if he actually made it to the top. He did, promised not to call me and it was for a dare and left. Guy had more balls than I thought he did," one of the girls said, puffing out on her cigarette.

"They've made it through then, any idea where they went?" Kiku asked, pausing on his way into the building.

Shrugging, the girl pointed down the street. "Don't know about the Spanish guy and the Italian, but the blonde and the obnoxious red-eyed kid went that way, said they were going to a bar." One of her friends tugged on her arm. "That's all I know, now if you'll excuse us, we've got better places to be."

"Those girls were scary," Feliciano whispered and Kiku nodded in affirmation.

"If they're on foot, this will be much easier," Ludwig scanned down the street, a bar with flashing red lights was two blocks away. "I think I have an idea of where they are."


	11. Stalker

**Author's Note:** See bottom Author Note for a list of why I've been busy. If you're not too concerned with my life (which is totally fine, I hardly ever read Author Note's either) that's why it's at the bottom, so you can skip over it.

 **Story Note:** I'm sorry to the one reader who made it clear he didn't like Spamano, but I love it, it reminds me of my own crush through the years on this guy. There was a cool article I read how fanfiction and shipping is often just a reflection of a relationship we crave or one we've had in the past. Which means your NOTPs are often a reflection of a relationship you were unhappy in or one you don't want to ever be in.

 **Disclaimer: This is a side hobby until I actually develop my own characters and personalities and finish that book I'm writing. I'm not monetizing this in anyway nor claiming ownership of characters.**

 **BEGINNING OF CHAPTER FOR ALL YOU LAZYBONES :3**

"You lost, Gilbert, face it," Francis reminded his friend as he glanced down at the contents of his drink.

Already on his third glass of scotch, Gilbert slumped against the counter, "Gurls hate me, Franny."

"Should of took my advice; the guys would find you much more charming," Francis said and Gilbert shook his head and looked up from his arms.

"'M a failure, Francis," Gilbert muttered, "who would go out with a failure?"

 _Lots of people_. "You're not a failure. We'll have to postpone your entrance into the strip-contest, for when you're not so...depressed." The blonde absentmindedly patted his friend's back, smiling a little at the unawesome sight that was in front of him.

"Why don't girls like me?" Gilbert said after a moment, staring at the chatting and laughing patrons around them. Some girls were hanging off their boyfriend's arms, wides eyes staring adoringly at their potential lovers.

"Maybe you're only meant for one," Francis guessed, swirling his drink boredly. "Maybe you're not meant for any."

"Thanks, you're really helpful," Gilbert grumped and got up from the bar, stumbling up to go to the bathroom.

Other patrons gave him a wide birth as he scanned the dim bar for the familiar restroom sign. This place reeked, but he didn't care anymore. Him and Francis would wait for Antonio and that kid to catch up with them and then leave. Oh god, what if the bathroom was tucked away in a corner and he pissed himself trying to find it. To his relief, it was in white letters on a black background with a light on it. If it hadn't been, Gilbert would of probably pissed his pants trying to find that little hallway. As he pushed through people to get there, Gilbert stumbled into a tall figure standing near the wall. He was taller by a few inches than Gilbert, who wasn't short by any means. The man glared down at Gilbert.

"Well excuse me," Gilbert said gruffly and side stepped the man. He felt the chill of violet eyes following him as he disappeared into the restroom. In a sweet moment of bliss, he let out all that beer that had been resting in his system. He was going to have the worst hangover ever tomorrow.

The door to the bathroom swung open and the man from earlier took the urinal beside Gilbert. Annoyed, the albino finished his business quickly. God, he'd chosen the outside one hoping someone wouldn't stand next to him. Some people were real creeps like that.

Again, he felt the chill of violet eyes on him. Gilbert washed his hands quickly and glanced up in the mirror's reflection to see the man behind him. Stifling a yelp, Gilbert struggled to replace his fear with anger.

"What's your problem, back up some dude," Gilbert hissed and shoved past the pale-haired man blocking his path. There was a brief moment where they were too close, their noses only inches apart, before Gilbert was out of the bathroom, eager to find Francis and go. Antonio and Lovino better be at the car or they could consider themselves new residents of this town.

The pale man remained in the bathroom, holding the wallet of the albino. He flipped it open and smiled to himself down at the driver's license.

Back in the main part of the bar, Lovino had deduced, after checking in the strip bar a few doors down, this is the one they were at. He spotted the familiar blonde and sighed in relief. Settling into the seat next to the blonde Gilbert earlier occupied, he ordered something strong, sliding a fake ID across carelessly. It was scanned briefly before accepted.

"Where's Antonio?" Francis questioned, looking up from his phone.

"He was talking into this detective we ran into, probably heading this way now," Lovino said offhand, his attention on the liquor being poured for him.

"Detective?" Francis raised an eyebrow. The word detective sent an uneasy twist through his gut, but he knew Antonio wound never sell him out.

"Nothing to get your disgusting underwear in a twist about," Lovino said snorting and swallowed the shot gratefully, "there's a serial killer somewhere in this state these two guys are tracking."

"Hm," Francis felt a prickling sensation of relief flow through him and he twitched slightly. No one was looking for him, not yet, "isn't there always?"

"Just as common as backstabbers," Lovino said in agreement and looked up to see Antonio entering, anxiously scanning for the two of them. Lovino motioned him over, smirking at the puppy-dog like expression that washed over Antonio at the sight of them.

"Ah, I was hoping I chose the right one," Antonio said as he took a seat. He didn't bother to order anything. "Where's Gilbert?"

"In the bathroom," Francis said. "He lost the contest, we'll make him do a strip show at the Devil and Angel's bar south of this one when he gets over his depression."

"Oh, so in an hour?" Antonio asked and Lovino choked on his alcohol. These guys were far beyond his comprehension at times.

"About that time," Francis said.

"You two are horrible," Lovino muttered and he spotted the albino heading back from the bathroom, his face screwed up in an expression of worry. That didn't look like the face of a man ready to shake his booty for money. "I don't think it's going to be an hour."

Francis and Antonio turned to look in the same direction as Gilbert came back from the bathroom, terror lurking in his eyes. He crossed his arms and stood beside the three, his eyes shooting back to the bathroom. Normally, Gilbert was prone to exaggerations, but there was something real behind those eyes that made Francis uneasy again. He wasn't much for superstitions, but it looked like Gilbert had seen a ghost, and not your friendly neighborhood Casper. More like the Amity-ville murderer.

"What happened?" Francis questioned, his eyes locked on Gilbert's. As the oldest, sometimes he thought it was his duty to protect the others.

"Some creep, we should go," Gilbert said with a sigh. "And can we put off that strip-contest until tomorrow. I know another town we can do it in if those cops catch up with us again," Gilbert said just as the door swung open to the bar. Chaos hardly ever waited.

"It's loud in here," said a familiar high-pitched voice. Lovino's smile dropped faster then the speed of sound itself. It's almost as if he could feel the aura of his brother before he'd even entered the bar. In his defense, many people that knew Feliciano swore he could be felt from a mile away.

"Shit, you spoke too soon," the brother cursed. He swung his feet off the stool and threw down some money for his drink. Antonio rose to his feet, scanning for another exit. Francis beat him to it. His eyes darting past Gilbert to the rear of the bar. Part of the profession, one could imagine.

"Back exit, near the bathrooms," Francis pushed them in that direction as the officer, detective and seventeen year old mafioso maneuvered through the crowd.

Kiku caught a glimpse of them, but remained silent. He signaled briefly to Feliciano who followed his line of sight and nodded. Ludwig remained unaware. The two followed Ludwig's gaze innocently, acting oblivious. Silently, Feliciano sent his brother some good luck, not missing the way Antonio hovered protectively near him. If he had the opportunity, he would tease his brother about this later.

The four criminals found the back door soon enough. Lovino hung back, scanning to see if the officer was following. The officer, his brother, and to his surprise, his bodyguard headed off to the other side of the bar. He smirked briefly at the inside joke; that blonde bastard his brother was hanging off of was going to feel so betrayed later. Good, but he sort of didn't miss the way his brother ogled that guy. He and his brother were going to have a _stern_ talk about who he was allowed to date. Potato munchers weren't on the list. Lovino knew a German when he saw one. His mind became overwhelmed with the horror of his younger fratello engaging in anything sexual with that walking stiff. Lovino watched the three until his brother pretended to see someone on the other side of the bar and the three disappeared out of sight, but as he turned to leave felt a chill consumed him.

His eyes turned to his immediate surroundings and he noticed the door of the men's bathroom was cracked open. He thought about investigating, his hand straying to the gun tucked in his pants, but he shook his head. If that potato smoocher wasn't fooled by his brother, then he could be heading this way any second and that wasn't a risk he could take. As he turned to leave, he saw a glimpse of a tall man with violet eyes and pale blonde hair emerge from the bathroom. Lovino froze and Alfred's warning came to mind, _"violet eyes and this like death aura."_ No...it couldn't be.

The man took a step towards him.

Lovino flew out the back door, racing to catch up to Antonio. He caught a hold of the Spaniard's arm and tugged him aside from Francis and Gilbert who were talking in hushed tones. Thankfully, they were unaware. The Spaniard adjust Lovino's hold on his arm to be less constricting and patiently waited for Lovino to tell him what was so urgent. Using a minute to catch his breath and slow down his racing heart. Lovino grabbed Antonio's arm tighter again.

"I saw the serial killer," Lovino hissed.

Alarmed, Antonio glanced back towards the bar. "Did he see you?" he whispered.

"He was spying on us."

Antonio shuddered and went silent, his mouth twisted into a tight grimace as he thought over their options. Several times he looked back to Lovino, begging him to have imagined it or for the serial killer to have no interest in them. With annoyed and condescending eye movements, Lovino assured the older man he hadn't imagined the tall man that looked like he terrorized children for fun.

Eventually, Antonio got the message and the two fell silent, body language and word wise. Antonio pulled his arms free. Lovino gave him a look. Smiling, Antonio shrugged and moved his arms around and increased his walking speed, showing the mafioso he could move faster without Lovino hanging on him. The swift punch he received to the arm and the accompanying yelp drew in Gilbert and Francis's attention. At the perverted glance Francis sent and the bemused one Gilbert sent, the two put their hands in their pockets and acted nonchalant, forcing themselves not to exchange glances. Gilbert was fooled, but Francis just winked at them.

Wincing, Antonio rubbed the place Lovino hit. He elbowed Lovino and inclined his head to Francis and Gilbert. At first, Lovino didn't get it until Antonio made devil horns and motioned back towards the bar.

"Let's not," Lovino said. "Maybe if we're lucky, he's not that interested.

They, to their relief, found the van and Gilbird chirped from the side mirror he was resting on. Francis settled into the backseat and Gilbert slid into the back, getting comfortable on the mattress. Antonio took the driver's seat, turning the keys and enjoying the soft rumble that assured him they could get far away from that bar. From cops and from a serial killer. He almost wondered if it would work out like in the movies, where the cops would catch the serial killer and they would get away fine. Somehow, he knew his luck wasn't that good. The little yellow bird flew in through the window and perched itself on the back of Antonio's seat.

Lovino couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched and he glanced around them, checking to make sure the serial killer was nowhere to be found before climbing in. The same chill ran through him, the one that foretold of the violent aura. God, he was starting to sound like a hippie, but part of his experience in the mafia was sensing potentially dangerous characters around him without looking. He was never wrong. If he felt someone was up to no good, they probably were. Even that German potato licker wasn't just feelings of jealousy and over protection; there was something wrong with him, but Lovino couldn't put his finger on it. He shoved his hands into the pocket of Antonio's jacket, a familiar warmth spreading over him. His finger tips brushed against the card the young detective had given him.

Weighing his options, he pulled it out. He did say to call him... Lovino gestured for Antonio to give him his phone. The Spaniard instantly complied. Lovino's fingers hovered over the keypad, wondering if he would ever betray these nitwits. They did just give him a phone he could call the mafia with. No, there was something about that goofy smile on the man beside him that _forced_ him to call Alfred.

…

 **END OF CHAPTER**

 **And sorry for being SO busy. Medical issues. SO MANY MEDICAL ISSUES and school work.**

 **First: Costochondritis. Inflammation of the chest, often unknown cause. I think I've had it since my concussion last year. It can't kill you, but it can make you want to die. I remember feeling this burning pain in my chest while running and my times suffered because of it. No known cure, usually lasts from 2-10 years. Some people are unable to work and have to be hospitalized for years due to how bad it is. I hope I am not one of them.**

 **Second: Pilonidal cyst surgery was completed. Even though it hurts to sit and stand and the pain medicine wrecks me when I'm trying to do school work and write. I can honestly say, it is better than the one above.**

 **Third: School. Been off for two weeks actually due to recovery, but all the school work followed me home and I've been working to complete it.**

 **Fourth: My mom had a heart attack. A minor one, but now I'm on the watch for her. We don't understand why. She's not fat. She eats healthy, is very active. But she does have medically known anxiety problems she takes medicine for.**


	12. Click-Click-Pull

Alfred's hotel room was messy and cramped as usual, but the younger man didn't care. He shuffled in, slid off his gloves and boots and collapsed at the desk scattered with notes. Brushing back his bangs from his face, he mulled over the notes. All his connections added up, everything made sense, so why did he feel like there was something wrong. His gut pulsed with a steady rhythm, it warned him that bastard was somewhere near by.

His gut was like a ticking alarm and it never failed him. Just like in second grade when he knew that kid stole Mattie's lunch and he had pummeled the living shit out of him. He even saw Mattie's lunch in that kid's cubbyhole, but _no…_ That dumb teacher made him clean the whiteboard for a month; he wasn't even allowed to doodle on it or anything. There were other far more credible incidents Alfred could talk about that would prove he knew that freak was in the area, but he still was mighty proud of himself for winning that fight.

Scratching at an itch on his head, Alfred slumped in the chair and eyed the small fridge in his room. He wished he drank. Then he could drown his sorrows in liquor. However, the blonde held himself strictly to rules and had no desire to cross the law. Beer wasn't that great of a drink in his opinion and he was embarrassed to admit he thought the fruitier cocktails sounded tastier. Frowning, Alfred strode over to the fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of Coca Cola. This was the true shit, not the kind with High Fructose Corn Syrup. Alfred prided himself on drinking the original more sugary drink. He was American through and through and would forever ignore the fact that there was also an original version with cocaine in it. That wasn't what he drank, he was Alfred F. Jones, a hero, and he didn't do anything bad.

Again, his eyes drifted to his notes and then to his phone. He'd handed out a lot of fliers today, someone should be calling him any time. Man, that'd prove Arthur wrong for once. His phone rang, but it wasn't the default tone for an unknown number. It was the tone he had given Arthur, "Iron Man." Originally, he'd given the Brit the tone of Iggy Azeala's annoying songs, but with how often Arthur called, Alfred had to change it to something he could stomach.

The phone kept buzzing and ringing, nearly pushing itself off the desk. Alfred let it. He stared at the phone as it lay helpless on the floor. No desire to pick it up rested in his system.

Maybe he should call it a night. These hotel beds weren't half bad and he could always claim to Arthur he stayed up.

His eyes went back to the map, the red circle over this town.

No, not yet.

He drifted into his bathroom, figuring he could just clean up to keep himself awake.

Iron Man stopped playing on his phone. As he washed his hands he heard another song start up. _God, Arthur, just give it a rest._ As his ears locked in one a different drum beat, one more relaxed and upbeat and the bass guitar's rhythm he realized it was the Aerosmith song "Sweet Emotion." His default tone for unknown callers. Drying his hands hastily on his jeans, Alfred dropped down into his knees and scooped up the phone. Tapping the green circle he held the phone to his ear and listened eagerly.

" _I saw him."_ It was the Italian from earlier.

"Where?" Alfred breathed into the phone. He didn't even question if it was a prank or a mistake all he could think was he was _so_ going to prove Arthur wrong. His heart sang into his ear, thrumming with the gleeful song of success.

 _"At the bar we were at, the one a little ways from the haunted house,"_

Alfred recalled the location and he made a silent fist bump into the air, mouthing curse words and shouts. He had it right! He was right! If only he hadn't left the area and maybe if Arthur hadn't shown up his gut would have told him to accompany those people and could have arrested Braginski on the spot. It would have been so great. Alfred would have forever been the hero! One of the youngest detectives to catch a criminal like him.

"Did you see what he was doing? He usually has his eyes set on someone, anything you can tell me about a target he could have? Is he still at the bar?" Alfred rattled off, he pulled out his note pad and waited for Lovino to speak. Impatiently, his foot tapped and he leaned against his desk, his body shaking with excitement.

There was a long pause and muffled whispers.

" _He was watching us. One of my...friends seemed to have ticked him off."_

"You or that other dude?" Alfred's fingers had stilled. He bit his lip. It was a different matter he wasn't sure he was ready for if he was talking to the what could be victims. Suddenly, he didn't feel so excited. He wanted to be the hero and catch Braginski before he attacked anyone, not bare witness to a horrible murder of two people he'd talked to earlier.

" _No, we're traveling with two others."_

Not good. Not good. That's four lives at stake! "Where are you at?" the blonde questioned, shoving his feet into his boots and his arms into another jacket. Reflexively, he patted the pocket to make sure his leather gloves were in there and his licensed hand gun.

" _Longshore Road, on a lone stretch near this ditch and woods. We're fucked aren't we?"_

They were in the middle of nowhere, probably in a car. No one would be around to see them. Yes, they were totally screwed. Heroes couldn't tell people that, no he had to go save them and quick.

"Keep calm, I'll be there as fast as I can manage. Is there any cars following you?" Alfred ran from the room practically, paying no mind to the secretary's irritated yell that he needed to pay for another night if he was staying as he sprinted to the parking garage. He found his motorcycle and stood beside it, shifting the phone as he leaned on a nearby wall.

" _...Yes."_ The man was starting to sound panicky now. _"I...fuck. Can I shoot them? I have a gun. If I shoot this fucker will I be in trouble. It's a dark black truck, lights off, it's practically on our bumper—Antonio speed the hell up—it's not giving us any space."_

Oh god, man, this was really awesome. Okay, it was awful and those people were in danger, but it was also really awesome. Like, Alfred could be a hero really soon and save these people. But it was also really terrible, these people were in danger of being murdered. But awesome! Alfred never had the chance to do this before.

"Shoot at his tires, if he returns fire..." Was he allowed to suggest this? "Um...shoot as a last resort. If anything, don't make it obvious you're armed. If he does-"

" _He's trying to fucking ram us. Do I shoot or do I not? Bastard, tell me."_

"I..." Alfred froze up, there was the sound of shattering glass and gunfire. Too late to tell him anything different.

" _Too fucking late, I shot. It missed and Antonio just swerved into a ditch. Fucking come quick, bring some fucking back up."_

The other man had hung up. Alfred zipped his phone into his pocket. He should call Arthur, but not yet. He'd call him when he got there. Right now, he had to intercept as soon as possible. Sliding his leg over his motorcycle Alfred cranked the gear and kicked the kickstand up. He tore down the road, his heart pounding in his ears.


	13. Run Rabbit, Run!

**AN:** Time's are rough, but here's you a chapter. But, fun note. For those of you with strict restrictions on your school's browsing websites (or take-home tablets/laptops), I present a REALLY good proxy website to run websites on. Rabbit. (the dot goes after the b). Click on chat, messages, click on video, youtube. At the top of their improv browser type in any site you want to access. And there you go

 **SN:** Heheh...

 **Beginning of Chapter**

"You had a gun, you had a gun on you this whole time?" Gilbert screamed from the back. He stared at the broken windows of the back of his van and back at Lovino with growing anger. He let out a loud groan of frustration and started yelling slurs at the Italian, most involving how much this was going to cost him and the damage done to the van. His anger shifted to Antonio quickly. "Antonio, did you not understand what I meant when I asked you to pat him down?"

Lovino jumped in, gesturing angrily with the gun. His expression was full of blazing anger and slight terror and his eyes held the desperation of a trapped animal.. "Listen fucker, I just tried to save us all from a homicidal maniac that plans on killing us all thanks to you," Lovino yelled back. He aimed the gun without a second thought at Gilbert, cocking it, ready to blow the albino's brains to heaven. Antonio held his hands up and tried to calm the two, mainly concerned about Lovino who had the gun. Gilbert didn't look any calmer.

"Lovino!" Antonio tried, but the man ignored him. The gun remained steadily pointed at Gilbert. He glanced to Gilbert and took a deep breath in. "We can't worry about the van or the gun; we need to get out and-" Antonio started.

"Do what?" Francis sat up, rubbing his head tenderly. The abrupt turn into a ditch had caused him to bash his head onto the door. He faintly wondered if he had a concussion. It took a moment for him to analyze their surroundings and the current situation.

"Run?" Antonio asked and he looked to Lovino for an answer. Surely the mafioso would know something about these situations.

"It depends if _he_ has a gun," Lovino said. Reluctantly, he lowered his own. Today, Gilbert got to live.

A car door slammed. The four tensed and Gilbert's head whipped around towards the broken window of the van.

"He's too close, roll up the windows and lock the doors, there's no way we can make it on foot," Francis ordered and Antonio complied. Sitting up, Francis gestured to Gilbert. "Flip the mattress against the back doors of the van; it will block him from the handles should he try to open it up."

Gilbert complied, pushing the mattress against the back with a grunt. He moved their bags to safety behind him. His knuckles were beyond and he looked ready to crack. Antonio rolled up the windows and hit the lock button just to make sure. While he was at it, he turned off the radio that had been faintly playing pop music.

A quick glance out the window, looking back in the direction of the car, revealed danger. A figure stood at the top of the ditch, an iron pipe in his hand. Antonio moved his head back around and swallowed heavily, his eyes darting to his luggage. He didn't like to fight, but he did have a knife that he knew very well how to use if needed. If he asked Gilbert to grab it from his luggage, he risked the albino finding the other contents.

"We're so fucked," Gilbert whispered in the cold silence. He was shaking so bad. It wasn't because he was unawesome, it was because serial killers didn't land anywhere on the scale of awesome. Gilbird, sensing the mood and impending doom, flew to Gilbert and settled onto his lap tweeting mournfully. Grateful for the company, Gilbert pet the top of the bird's head, it pecked him. By now Gilbert figured that was their symbol of love.

"Antonio, try to get the car out of this ditch," Francis said calmly, his hands clenched on the seat. He was the oldest, therefore he had to be the most rational and controlled. He was a thief, a good thief, he knew how to escape certain death.

Antonio slowly put his foot down on the accelerator and the wheels spun uselessly. The Spaniard tried to turn the car, but the right wheel in the front would not move. Frustrated, he pounded his hands on the wheel. The figure wasn't anywhere they could see anymore.

"Keep trying," Francis demanded. He coughed and said again nicer, "it's alright if it takes a few tries."

"I can't," Antonio said. He had started crying, fear causing tears to run down his cheeks as he nervously gripped the steering wheel with all his might. He really didn't want to see anyone die. Lovino beside him was anxiously scanning outside, his gun at the ready. This wasn't something new, it was just like being ambushed by a small gang or cartel, all he had to do was point and shoot. Easy, right?

The window opposite of Francis shattered, glass flying into the van. The violet eyed serial killer stood there smiling.

"Privyet," he greeted.

The four men screamed and Gilbert threw the first thing he could find, his phone, at the serial killer. Antonio panicked and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, the car shot forward a few inches. Lovino cursed and watched his side nervously, chewing on his bottom lip. He had half a mind to roll the window down and shoot the bastard the right way instead of hiding in here like a coward.

Francis didn't take anymore risks and swung into the back with Gilbert, vaulting those seats like it was his job as a hurdler. He dug around in his bag for something he could use as a weapon, but he hadn't packed a gun, because for some _odd_ reason, he thought on his _vacation_ he wouldn't need to defend himself from any threats.

"Antonio, keep trying!" Francis said as he ripped open Gilbert's bag and shoved past crumpled clothing and the sort looking for a weapon of some kind.

He tried again, but the back wheel was stuck in something. Anxiously, he glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Please don't look through my bags, Francis," Antonio asked, but the thief didn't seem to hear him. Now wasn't a good time for his secret to be out.

No one anticipated the serial killer to switch sides. Lovino cursed himself on that rookie mistake and Antonio screamed like hell was after him as his window shattered. He quickly moved over as a gloved hand shot through the glass and reached around until it found the door handle. A few glass shards had cut his face and shirt; blood started running down his chin. Unfortunately, Lovino couldn't get a good shot with him in the way.

"Run!" Francis screamed, already pulling down the mattress to push himself and Gilbert out. Lovino swung open his car door and pulled Antonio out with him as the violet eyes and crazed expression peeked in through the driver's door.

"Wait, do not be afraid," the serial killer said, raising his hands in false innocence, the pipe nowhere to be seen. "I mean no harm. I only want to invite you to dinner."

"Kiss my ass," Lovino yelled, pushing Antonio behind him to fire twice at the serial killer. Despite both shots hitting him straight in the chest, he didn't waver.

"Ah, that doesn't sound very nice," he tsked. "You yell mean things at me then make dents in my vest." He rolled to the side as Lovino aimed for his head, hiding behind the safety of the van. Francis and Gilbert had already picked a direction to run in—back to where they came from, in the safety of the side of the road next to the fences for farms and private land.

Antonio had lingered, waiting for Lovino. When he saw the man had drawn away from shooting with no luck he started running, catching up with Gilbert and Francis easily. Lovino joined them without a problem.

"How well do you think he's going to pursue on foot?" Gilbert huffed. Gilbird was sitting on his head as he did all the work. Gilbert wasn't chubby, rather the opposite, much too light for his size, He was a couch potato through and through with a high metabolism on the contrary. At least he had chosen shorts over the jeans he usually liked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he has a tranquilizer gun considering he doesn't kill on sight; he's aiming to disarm us and then take us to god knows where," Francis said through slow and even breaths as he jogged easily. He could go faster, but was staying Gilbert's speed.

"Why the hell didn't we try taking his car?" Lovino asked, glancing over his shoulder, although he saw nothing following him, he was unsettled.

"Because not all of us would be able to defend ourselves should he come at us," Francis snapped, annoyed. "It was nice to know you could have betrayed us at any given second."

"I didn't; be glad that when Antonio gave me the phone I called Alfred rather than the mafia. You know what, I think I should have just called my brother and bodyguard. They would have got here quicker and done shit," Lovino ranted. He sucked in a deep breath of air and the four continued running in silence.

"I'm proud of you," Antonio tried to reassure him.

"Shut up, you'd be proud of the serial killer if he suddenly said sorry," Lovino grumbled.

They heard the growl of the engine and lights were on them. The serial killer's car was fast gaining. Francis cursed and glanced around, but there was nowhere they could head to get attention. And worst, Gilbert was running out of steam.

"Can't go on any longer," he wheezed and Francis reluctantly slowed.

"That's it, we're giving up?" Lovino snarled.

"We can't outrun him. If you want to be useful, plant a bullet between his eyes or find us somewhere to hide," Francis said, running a hand through his blonde hair as the car started to come to a stop a few feet away. "Gilbert, are you sure you can't run?"

The albino collapsed to his knees; not over-dramatically mind you. He really wasn't built to run and after that alcohol, all he could do was start retching, his body heaving up the poisonous contents he had put in him. Francis sighed and angrily kicked a tree stump nearby. Those fences had electricity warnings on them, unless he wanted to be a French Fry, he better just stay put.

"Let's keep walking," Antonio said hopefully, "Alfred, the detective's assistant we ran into could be here any second."

"Alfred, huh," Francis said as he hauled Gilbert up. Antonio wrapped an arm under the other side of the albino's shoulder and he and Francis half-carried, half-dragged the exhausted man.

Gilbird fluttered up, flying in circles around the three. Finding his host unsuitable for perching on, the bird settled on Lovino's shoulder as they walked. Although annoyed, he didn't brush the bird off. Lovino walked backwards, his gun at the ready. He knew it wasn't much use at this point in the dark. Even with the white-blonde hair the man had, he couldn't get a good headshot with shadows ruining shots.

"His last name wouldn't happen to be Jones, would it?" Francis asked. He stared straight into the darkness ahead, his blue eyes glistening with memories.

"Yes, why?" Lovino said, pitching in.

"He's my brother—not by blood, but by friendship. He was one of the boys besides Matthew I grew close to. lost contact with him after a few years. Matthew said he hadn't heard much from Alfred after he left for college. When he came back the boy's home said Alfred took on an apprenticeship, I'm glad it wasn't in a bad trade," Francis admitted and Lovino felt some of his anger for the French man fade. "This isn't the reunion I wanted, but while we're possibly about to die I might as well confess some of my sins. I never did go back to see how he was after I left nor tried that hard to contact him again."

To his surprise, he found his two best friends smiling at him and Gilbert sluggishly patted Francis on the shoulder. He raised his head to smile at Francis. "You did good, Franny," Gilbert managed to choke out.

"You must have given Alfred some morals if he chose to be a detective. You may consider yourself a bad person at times, but you helped turn two boys into active members of society by protecting them from some of the crueler parts of the world," Antonio complimented and the French man laughed.

"I guess I did," Francis said.

"What do you think Lovino?" Antonio asked, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight and he gasped.

"I thought it was touching. My sisters and I had a falling out over the years too, sadly we didn't rekindle," the serial killer said, forlorn. He had Lovino in a dangerously tight headlock, his other hand gripping Gilbird. Lovino gripped the man's arm breathing steadily and slowly to keep himself from losing oxygen. The bird gave a loud chirrup of distress. The serial killer chuckled and tucked the bird in his pocket without a thought. His hand disappeared farther into the coat to pull out the iron pipe again.

"He's right behind us?" Gilbert squeaked. He lifted his head weakly and looked at Francis terrified.

"Merde," Francis murmured and he tightened his grip on Gilbert. "I don't suppose Lovino's gun is lying nearby."

"No, I took it," the serial killer confirmed offhandedly. "Would you all like to come to dinner with me without putting up a fight?"

"As much as I value our short-lived friendship with Lovino, I think we should go our separate ways," Gilbert muttered, standing straight again. "I think I can run again." Antonio shot a dark look at Gilbert for that suggestion. To his disappointment, Francis was nodding.

"Agreed, it's not worth it. We'll get the van back after Alfred shows up."

"Have you two gone insane!" Antonio hissed, "We're not leaving Lovino behind."

"Well, we sure ain't leaving you behind. Francis grab one arm, I'll grab the other and let's get the fuck outta here," Gilbert remarked.

It wasn't that they didn't care about Lovino. It was more the feelings of shock and anger from the man whipping out a gun and the whole concept that Lovino was literally just a mafia boy they hit on the road. Antonio, to their complete and utter horror, walked in the wrong direction, right to the serial killer.

"Antonio!" Gilbert groaned. "Mein Gott, you _idiot_."

"My name is Antonio and I-" that was all Antonio got out before the serial killer whipped out a tranquilizer and shot him in the shoulder. The Spaniard had enough time to register pain before his eyes fell back and he crumpled to the ground.

"You dumbass motherfucker, why, why would you do that?" Lovino gritted out with what air he possessed. "There was no goddamn reason to be a hero, I was fine on my own."

The serial killer didn't say anything at his minor accomplishment of shooting Antonio. He just smiled and raised the tranquilizer gun to shoot at Gilbert. Luckily he missed, but only by a hair. Francis and Gilbert had started backing away, caught between trying to get Antonio and the van or leaving. Not at all perturbed at the prospect of his victims getting away, he turned the tranquilizer gun to shoot Lovino. The Italian saw it coming, but couldn't do much more than close his eyes as the serial killer let go of him and let his body crumple to the ground.

"We can't leave Antonio," Gilbert said. "I was fine with leaving Potty-mouth, but Antonio's our friend. And oh shit, he's got Gilbird too, doesn't he!"

"Just-" Francis froze, feeling a sharp pinching sensation. He reached his and up and plucked the tranquilizer dart out of his neck with trepidation. His blue eyes focused on Gilbert's before they became unfocused; a message clearly etched into the orbs: "Run".

"Fuck me," Gilbert ran. He let adrenaline move him and ignored the stomach cramps as he threw himself forward. The air burned his throat and he coughed. The acrid taste of bile filled his mouth, but he kept pushing onwards.

Ivan watched him. It was a funny sight to see. He raised the tranquilizer gun and pulled the trigger, but the dart didn't sail through the air and hit the albino; it was jammed in the gun.

"Pity," Ivan said to himself. "Maybe he'll come back, if not, I'll just have to go find him," he sang.

Giggling, he started hauling the bodies into his car, carelessly throwing Antonio and Lovino in the back, but to his disappointment, Francis didn't fit all too well. Oh well, the original dinner party had been for three and now it was for five—assuming Gilbert would come back. It might just be for four. Still, he might have to make more food when he got home.

It wasn't a big deal; he liked cooking for others.


	14. Dinner Plans

**AN:** Triple Update? What? Why? I just have the chapters done and rather than with holding them until later, why not post them? I mean what good does it do besides review/follow monger to post slower. I decide reviews don't matter and nor do followers. If I enjoy writing it and you enjoy reading it; why not share the fun. It's not like I make money from this so there's really no reason to try to use business tactics. It's not I don't care about you; it's the opposite. We're on here to chill, have fun and feel good right? To me being able to read more often is pretty chill.

 **Start of Chapter**

"Alright, where are they?" Alfred muttered, scanning the area his headlight gave him access to. He checked his gas and was mildly worried to see it had dipped below halfway. Hopefully the place wasn't much further or he wouldn't make it to a gas station on the way back. A flash of a person on the road caught his attention and he slowed to a stop.

A distressed looking man with stark-white-blonde hair and pink, almost red eyes looked up at him with some relief. He had a face Alfred swore he had seen a while ago, but he couldn't place where. Alfred pulled over and the man walked towards him, his arms crossed across his chest more out of fear than defense.

"You wouldn't happen to be one of the guys that Lovino dude was with, would you?" Alfred asked.

The man somberly nodded. "Yeah, they all got caught. Franny—I mean Francis told me to run just before he went down so I did. They're alive, I think, just knocked out."

Alfred sighed and glanced up ahead. He was a little too late. "Not much further, right?"

"Not much," Gilbert murmured. "You think they'll be alright? Will you be able to take that bastard on?"

No. Probably not. I mean, he wasn't trained that well with hostage situations. Arthur always said that was police work. There job was to find the guys, the police did most of the apprehending of guys like these—hell, on a case like Braginski only FBI agents would dare confront him head on, probably with back up and plenty of protection. Not some old bomber jacket and a handgun.

"Yup, you can trust me," Alfred reassured despite his abilities. He was a good shot, better than anyone he knew (namely, he was better than Arthur who hardly ever saw it fit to whip out his gun and shoot—he was a lot better at the investigative side). Even if Alfred compared his gun skills to that of Lovino, he might actually stand above him, just because there was a natural instinct in Alfred that wasn't in Lovino. "You can catch a ride with me. What happened to the car you were in?"

"It's in a ditch."

"Right, gotcha, think you can get it out?" Alfred said. He also wasn't good with passengers on his motorcycle, as proven by the last time he took Arthur on it. The whole reason Arthur bought him a helmet was to stress to Alfred he couldn't be reckless and fickle on a motorcycle.

"I can try. I don't know where the serial killer went, do you?" Gilbert looked at him hopefully.

Not at all, but Alfred's gut was pretty reliable. He would even dare to say Ivan lived out on one of these farms, there was an abandoned one North of here that someone called complaining that there were lights in the old house out there. And here Arthur had dismissed it without a second thought. What an old dump he is.

"Around here," Alfred said confidently.

Gilbert stared at him dubiously. His relief was starting to wane and paranoia and fear replaced it.

"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Gilbert questioned.

"Just you wait until I prove you wrong. Now hop on, we don't have much time to spare, do we?"

Gilbert swung a leg over and grabbed onto the strap on the seat for Alfred's carrier bags. His feet quickly found the resting pedals for passengers and he felt the heat of the exhaust and tire slowly roasting his bare ankles.

"Don't move your feet too much and lean with me," Alfred warned as he kicked the kickstand up and revved the engine. "Oh, and hang on."

They blasted off, like a rocket into space or an indoor roller coaster onto the track. Alfred was filled with the thrill and the looming terror of the serial killer's lair. What _would_ he do? He would phone Arthur when this guy was getting his car out of the ditch and then he would go over to where he thought the serial killer was. If he was right, he would confirm the location again with Arthur, if he was wrong he would make sure Arthur put out a search request. See, who was the intern now? Alfred _clearly_ knew what he was doing compared to Arthur.

He spotted the van lodged in a ditch and pulled over to let Gilbert try and see if he could get it out. Alfred took a look at the damage and let out a low whistle at the shattered windows. Gilbert had to carefully pick a lot of glass off the driver's seat before he could even get started.

"What weapon was he carrying? Something heavy; no one's ever got a clear look at it?" Alfred asked as he examined the car with some interest. There were bags in the back and a mattress haphazardly balancing on its side. "And what were you guys doing? Traveling somewhere, I take it."

"Yeah, a road trip. It was my idea," Gilbert admitted quietly as he slid into the seat and checked the fuel tank. It was low, but doable. He had after all left the car running as they ran away. Gott, this was going to cost so much money to repair.

"Road trip, huh?" Alfred chuckled. "Can't say I've ever been on one. What's it like?" Alfred had plopped down on one of the seats, glancing back through the missing window at his motorcycle to make sure it wasn't in harm's way. It was a good way away from the car so he was good.

"So far, it's been..." Gilbert stopped. Was this fun? Was this awful? Did he like the thrill of danger? Hell yeah, but… "different from the usual."

"I hear you there. I hate normality too; it's pretty dull," Alfred admitted. "So, you know what weapon he was carrying?"

Without the terror of being murdered, Gilbert found the car wasn't stuck that badly and if he pushed halfway down on the accelerator it slowly began to climb out. Now, the only issue was getting it back onto the road without tipping the van. Gilbert was sure he could do it.

"A cane or metal baseball bat or something long, metal and heavy," Gilbert faintly recalled. He turned the steering wheel and began the climb back out of the ditch. Another great reason he had those awesome wheels on the van was for situations like this. Antonio had panicked and hadn't know Gilbert's van well enough to get out, but Gilbert found it was a lot simpler. If only he had been sober earlier. What if he lost his friends, because of this? Gilbert, for the first time in many years, didn't feel that awesome.

"Knives are overrated these days, I guess. If I was a killer I'd shoot people. Not in the head or anything quick, but like in the knees or groin or in places it would really hurt. I guess maybe I would take a baseball bat and like put spikes on it," Alfred closed his eyes and pictured himself as a badass with a spiked baseball bat. He would bludgeon people to death, maybe only bad people. Maybe he would be like Deadpool—except hotter. Chicks would love him."Then I could just beat people and take out all that anger, you know. Like when you post something really funny and someone responds with 'kys' and you _really_ want to beat something up."

"That's...nice," Gilbert decided Alfred was a little off. "You calling anyone for back up by any chance." The van was almost out of the ditch and Gilbert braced himself for the bump as the car was nearly on horizontal ground.

"Oh yeah, give me a sec," Alfred patted his pockets and pulled out his phone. He found like three missed calls from Arthur and a text asking 'Where are you?' Apparently, Arthur had checked his hotel room. He was allowed in, because he paid the secretary the fee for another night. What lousy security; he was only giving them 3 stars. He wouldn't need to pay back Arthur after he proved how cool he was and had the biggest serial killer of the decade ready to be arrested.

He typed in his passcode and called Arthur, humming "Eye of the Tiger" as he waited for Arthur to pick up. Arthur had apparently been watching his phone, because he picked up faster than usual.

"Where. Are. You?" Arthur gritted out and Alfred rolled his eyes back, sensing the tirade. Arthur was like the angry mother he never had.

"Tracking down the serial killer. I'm about to catch him, like a boss. Alfred accented this with a fist pump. Just got a call in from some people who saw him"— _and were captured—"_ and we're on-"

"Alfred, how many times have I told you; it's just another prank. We need to leave town soon. Can-" Arthur was going to start pushing him around again wasn't he. Oh look, let's go to this and this town and find out we're late. Oh, it's still better than your leads, Alfred. He could imagine Arthur rubbing his big fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows right now.

"Well, it's not a prank and you really should come over here. There's three people captured and this one dude that got away had his car busted in by some heavy metal object. Pretty sure this is totally not a prank," Alfred reassured. He thought he had been pretty thorough. "Here, I'll send you my location."

"There are people captured?" He heard Arthur's muffled curses and an aggravated sigh, probably followed by a look in the mirror as Arthur considered his life. "Alfred, stay where you are. Just wait for me and a few officers to come down there. Don't do anything rash. I mean it, Alfred. If this does turn out to be a prank, however, you _will_ lose some of your privileges. Remember who's still paying the insurance for you on your motorcycle."

"You're the best, my brother from another mother," Alfred chirped as Arthur groaned.

"Take these matters seriously, Alfred," Arthur scolded. "What am I to do with you? I'll call you back when I'm on my way—and Alfred, so help me, if you've moved _even_ a meter from _that_ spot. I will tan your hide-"

Deciding the conversation was over, Alfred hung up. He found Gilbert's eyes trained on him with an indecipherable expression etched in the albino's face.

"What?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing," Gilbert said, but something about Alfred pricked him in the wrong way; he just couldn't figure out what about the nineteen or eighteen something or other brother of Francis was so _weird_. There was something, Gilbert was sure.

"Cool, well, you can either stay right here or follow me. I'm not one for protocols, as long as you hang back and don't get in the way of my gun," Alfred said, getting out of the van. Gilbert felt relief not to have Alfred in his van. This was a sacred place. No unholy thing such as Alfred was going to ruin it.

…

"Antonio," Lovino hissed, kicking the chair beside his, "wake up." The Spaniard hardly stirred, his head still tilted down. His eyelids twitched and his lips twisted downwards in a frown. Whatever dream he was having wasn't that great. So he wouldn't miss it when he was woken up. As hard as he could manage without toppling the chair, Lovino kicked him again in the shin. "Antonio," Lovino hissed.

"Mi amigo?" Anotnio questioned drearily, struggling to get his eyes open.

"We're trapped. Gilbert's nowhere to be seen, and Francis is across from you," Lovino whispered.

"Oh," Antonio murmured, glancing around. The chair he was tied to—tightly he should add, with thick rope that didn't bend at all, it made his hands all numb—was pushed far too close to an ornate table with a plain white tablecloth over it. Silver plates and utensils sat on wooden place mats with intricate carvings on them. Wine glasses sat on unique coasters, splashed with dark colors. It was far too haunting to belong in front of him; it deserved a place in the horror movies he seldom watched.

A loud clatter of metal on metal jarred their attention and they heard chuckling from another room. "Don't mind me, just putting dishes in the sink," the serial killer called. It was like he could smell their fear.

"Right," Lovino said at normal volume before hissing frantically to Antonio. "Alright, you've learned a few tricks to get out of these kind of situations, haven't you?"

"Not really—don't you know how to get out yourself?" Antonio whispered back.

"Not alone, you idiot," Lovino snapped. "Usually I have..." his expression softened and he kicked the stone floor. "Feli. Aw shit, that kid's gonna die or something if I don't get out of this alive. He'd probably dehydrate himself crying over my grave," Lovino let out a huffy breath, filled with tears he refused to shed.

He leaned back against the chair, his head hanging over as he closed his eyes tightly and squeezed away any tears before they could make their escape. Antonio's heart painfully clawed at his chest seeing Lovino like this and threatened to tear through and race to the man.

"I don't want to die, not now," Lovino whispered.

"We're not going to die," Antonio said calmly, yet firm. "I'm sure Gilbert got away and Alfred was on his way… They'll find us."

"Ch...you really think they will?"

"...Si," Antonio hesitated far too long. Lovino caught it, but to the older man's surprise he wasn't troubled by Antonio's doubt, but amused.

"Wake up the frenchie; this will all go down easier if we're all awake."


	15. Not Yet

**AN:** I did too much fitness and broke open my scab for healing (just now trying to kick this loser's ass-plus all the bouncing and dancing I did earlier). Healing's going to increase a week. No Track season at this rate. _;-;_

"This looks like a great spot to have a party," Alfred sarcastically remarked as he pulled his motorcycle to the side. From a distance, the house looked dark and unlit, but Alfred suspected black curtains or something or other over the windows. He wasn't going to let this house disappoint him that easily. It was a standard two story house, with a structure not too much different from a townhouse, except it's altered changes to accommodate a generator easily accessible even in rough weather. The grass around the place was dead, like the life had been sucked dry until the flowers and brave green vines withered away, back into the Earth. If this wasn't the spot, the realtors were going to need to try harder to make the place look nice to sell it.

The crunch of dirt alerted him to Gilbert as he pulled the van in. He slipped from his van loudly, dropping onto the ground with a sigh. "Wrong location?" he asked.

"Not yet," Alfred replied. "I'll get a closer look. _If_ it is the wrong place..." Alfred stopped suddenly, a realization striking him. "You don't think there'll be ghosts, do you?"

Gilbert had had enough. His friends were in danger. The mafia brat that Antonio had taken a liking to had called this nitwit to help them. This road trip was supposed to be his chance at happiness and a break from mundane life. Not a trip to hell. He felt a wave of despair and anger bubble up until he let out a loud groan "That's it, I'm going to find some real law authority. Hell, I'll take that blonde cop that's been following us across the state over y _ou_ ," Gilbert opened his van door again, but Alfred latched onto his arm and pulled him away, insistently.

"Oh come on, Arthur and some of the local police will come this way. Look, I'll send Arthur a text," he pulled his phone out to send Arthur his location, but there was no signal. "Well, shoot, guess he'll just have to guess which road I chose to go down. Any chance you have a signal, I don't have 4G, I have like 3G and it doesn't cover hardly anywhere out here." Alfred rambled off and Gilbert stared at him annoyed. Gilbert's hands clenched into fists. _This_ was Francis's brother.

"You _really_ should have chosen a different career, like fast food," Gilbert insulted Alfred, hoping that the stubborn teen would let go of him.

Insults flew over Alfred's head just as much as sexual innuendo did. "Nah, McDonald's and me are side lovers, but my hero gig is my main babe," Alfred said casually. "Now do you have a signal or not?"

"I lost my phone," Gilbert snapped and pulled away from Alfred. If Alfred grabbed him again, that kid was going to get knocked the hell out. "Gott dammit, why did I suggest this road trip in the first place. All I wanted was something different, not _this!"_

"It's different," Alfred pointed out needlessly. _That was the last straw._

"Thank you, Captain Obvious for your kind remark now will you shut the hell up and-"

 _SNAP!_ Both of the men froze as they heard something, rather someone, heading towards them almost inaudible until they purposely stepped on a large stick to add suspense. They were only a few feet away, and if they were using a gun, and wanted to shoot...it would be hard to miss.

Don't fret, they weren't using a gun.

"See, this is the right place—or that's a coyote," Alfred chirped happily. Inside, he was panicking. What if it was a _ghost_? It couldn't be? If it was they couldn't snap branches or walk along the ground, right?

Gilbert wanted to run. Back to the van maybe; where it was safe and he could go find someone who was more equip to handle the situation, but his feet were frozen to the ground in terror. The detective's apprentice pulled his gun free and kept it low. He still had his phone and although the flashlight didn't beat a real good one—which was in one of his motorcycle bags—it would do for getting movement on whatever was out there.

"Okay, you're going to make my life easier and shine the phone flashlight slowly in whatever direction the noise or thing is coming from. I can't balance a phone in one hand that easy," Alfred whispered and passed his phone to Gilbert. Gilbert stopped cowering to shine the flashlight around. It gave them a radius of a few yards to see in, but it wasn't enough to reach out towards the dark shapes beyond that.

Alfred focused his attention on any sound he could. Past the frightened breathing of Gilbert, past the low whistle of the winds in the trees, past the odd howl the wind was making that sounded a little like _Kolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkol_ and to the sound of a foot scuffing on the ground. Whoever or whatever was out there wasn't lightweight. Still, he couldn't shoot unless he knew for sure it was Ivan Braginski.

"Yo, fatty hiding out in the dark," Alfred challenged the serial killer, hoping the insult would trigger a physical reaction, "if you keep hiding I'm going to have to shoot, regardless if you're a bad guy or not." Man, if that wasn't a bad guy he would face some serious charges. But Alfred's gut was _never_ wrong.

"The pot says to the kettle, 'you're black' as if it was any different," a voice said softly out in the darkness. Alfred moved his gun over an inch. So the baddie had strayed away from the house by aconsiderable amount. He was sure confident. The insult sunk in after he had tracked Ivan and he frowned.

"It's the jacket, can you say any different?" Alfred boasted. One more sound from the killer and he'd have a clearer window to shoot. Gilbert was getting anxious and shifted the light to a different hand—as his right one was growing far too sweaty—lowering the light for a split second too much.

The change in the air was noticeable and Alfred swore under his breath. Braginski had used that time to get closer. If he allowed him anymore chances like that he was going to get within striking range. It was deathly silent, even Gilbert's breathing had quieted as he frantically realized his own mistake and slunk closer to Alfred, glancing around nervously.

"Ivan, you lover of god knows what," Alfred said slowly, "you wouldn't want a bullet in your leg, would ya?" _Come on,_ fall _for it you shit eating bastard._ Alfred thought desperately. He should of read more on Ivan's profile, but he had been pressed from time and the weight of the situation was getting heavier and heavier as time passed.

There was a giggle too close to where Alfred and Gilbert had pulled their vehicles in. He couldn't let Braginski get any closer to them or the vehicles.

"We can talk more over dinner, Fredka," he was closer then before, but Alfred didn't understand how. He should be in range of the light. Gilbert was pointing the light towards the vehicles. Why did Braginski know his name? This was staring to get out of his comfort zone.

"Save the nicknames for the second date, Braginski," Alfred chuckled nervously and that's when he saw the flashlight pass over the glimpse of a speaker. It was up in a tree near the cars; almost as if Braginski planned for this kind of deal to happen. That son of a bitch was somewhere else entirely. One chance, Jones, if I were pulling a stunt like this I would be... right behind the person. It was as if the world around him slowed down. Alfred sucked a breath in he glanced over his shoulder at the violet eyes and mask of glee coming from out of the shadows like a demon. Shoving Gilbert to the side, Alfred whipped around to fire a blind shot as something heavy clipped his shoulder. The blow stung and Alfred nearly crumpled with it, but he caught himself before he hit the ground, bracing one leg with the weight of the blow. His bullet struck a tree, a resounding crack penetrating the air.

Gilbert scrambled back, clutching Alfred's phone and shining the light towards the two as Ivan swung around for another attack. There was a pang in Gilbert's gut as he suddenly missed his apartment, his bed, the bills laying on the coffee table, the cold water in the shower, because he forgot to pay the gas bill. The phone was like his life jacket in the dark sea of uncertainty, the only thing keeping him afloat in what would soon be the dark waves that would overcome him. He tapped the screen, hoping the signal bar would be back. If it wasn't, those waves would ruin him.

Alfred was at a disadvantage with the poor lighting and his glasses. He should of put contacts in, but he hadn't thought about it at the time. If he lost his glasses, he lost this fight. Ivan seemed to guess that or just liked the idea of slamming whatever he had in his hand into Alfred's face. His gun wasn't much use either; Ivan had the better weapon for close combat and Alfred was left to block swings he couldn't dodge with his forearms. There was no more time to trade insults. No more time to consider anything, but blocking Braginski's attacks and making sure he lived to see another day.

There was a signal. Gilbert wanted to cry with joy, but he didn't dare make a noise that would lure the tornado in front of him closer. He saw a recent call labeled "Arthur" and hit reply with text message. Alfred's phone was newer than his and there was the arrow option he recognized; "Send Location". He hit it and glanced up as the tornado dissipated.

He had gotten a second shot in, one last shot as hopefully some payback from the bruise that was surely going to cover his whole back by tomorrow morning, but it had missed and only tore a hole in Braginski's coat. Alfred turned on the spot, breathing heavily his gun clutched tightly in his hand as Braginski took a step back, breathing just as heavily with what Alfred realized was a sink pipe hanging from his hand.

The sending bar traveled across the screen, pausing most of the way there. Gilbert watched it anxiously as the single dropped from three bars to two. He held the phone up and showed Alfred who was facing his direction, hoping to send some courage to the man fighting off the serial killer.

"I win," Braginski murmured, a smile forming.

"Not yet," Alfred insisted, his eyes locking on the phone for a split second before back to Braginski.

He ignored the blazing pain traveling from his upper back down to his knees and took a step forward, raising his gun as the pain shot from his mid upper back to his arms. Maybe that chiropractor down the streets from Arthur's office would help him after this. His hands were shaking against their will. Braginski didn't move as Alfred aimed the gun at his head. He didn't have enough strength to pull the trigger, his finger kept slipping and the gun fell from his hand as his back whined painfully. Alfred felt his arms drop to his sides in the realization. There was no way he could bend down and grab his gun without being unable to get back up. He stood there, his eyes going to Gilbert as he saw relief flit across the man's face. The message had sent.

Ivan smiled politely at Alfred and the blonde shook his head. He didn't want to go out cold, not yet. But there wasn't much of an option. Ivan took a step towards him and Alfred decided he'd rather go out on his own accord rather than Ivan's.

Alfred closed his eyes and let the pain overwhelm him until he felt the world start spinning and he was blissfully unconscious. Gilbert had thrown the phone away from him, hopefully out of sight of Ivan and started crawling towards Alfred's gun. It was dark again, dark enough he couldn't see anything, but could only feel the ground. Maybe keeping the phone one minute longer wouldn't have been a crime.

He knew when the light was suddenly lit in front of him and a flashlight shone steadily on his back that he was, without a doubt, doomed.

 **END OF CHAPTER.**

 **Just an Update on Pairings:**

Spamano is still running. It's crucial to plot.

But...There's about to be a plot dependent pairing that's going to pop up. Fruk. Cry in fear or weep in joy, the two have a history that just won't die.

Gerita remains a friendship more than pairing, since Ludwig and Feli aren't the main focus. But Antonio, Francis and Gilbert's relationships matter much more. After all, that's the point of the story.

There's also a pairing I WANT to put it very, _very_ much. But for the sake of the plot (and the fact neither are main characters) it will show up in a spin off story off of this one and an unofficial sequel will come up later. More info on that to come later. I won't mention what it is, because I don't want to change the perception of you readers.


	16. Traitorous Passengers

**AN:** I'm so sorry. I devoted a lot of my time to Blood Stained Woods, which after I edit I might put up here for those not reading on Wattpad. And it was satisfying to finish, but before I start the sequel for that, I realized I needed to work on other works. Including the other work still in hiatus over here. And as far as my health, well, I just went to the doctor after last Tuesday I got hit on my way to school on my bike by a truck. My leg was crushed between the truck and my bike, but here's the funny part.

X-rays say nothing was broken. The swelling and bruising though was supposed to subside after five days. So my doc's pretty confused. I can walk on it semi alright, just a little hard. And it's constantly on fire. I'm supposed to put it above my waist, keep it propped up, but that puts pain on my tailbone which is still recovering from surgery.

But, I fair alright. The more misery you go through, the more life seems easier?

 **START OF CHAPTER:**

Ludwig knew something was up; that something wasn't right with the current situation

He was told to stay put while Edelstien and his partner, Elizabeta, drove to their location. That wasn't odd, it was smart and could avoid the confusion of getting spread out in a dire situation. The return of his partner and that FBI agent wasn't the problem, not yet anyway.

More along the fact the three hoodlums had managed to escape his grasp yet again, without much effort. And if his deduction skills weren't wrong... Ludwig's blue eyes locked on the auburn haired twin and the laconic speaking detective and he felt the seed of unease in his stomach. Kiku was laughing softly at whatever story Feliciano was animatedly telling him, waving his plastic spoon around as he talked. The three were hanging around a late-night ice-cream mostly bare of any sane individual.

The boy was far too calm, far too lighthearted. Ludwig thought to himself, his eyebrows creasing with irritation. It wasn't just Feliciano who was off. Ludwig had checked in the van on the police laptop if "Kiku Honda" was in the system. Not as a detective, but he _was_ there as a possible assassin had been charged only to have the evidence dropped. Two characters far too suspicious to sleep along aside without keeping an eye open.

It all made much more sense when instead of ordering some gelato—as Felicano called it—he had pulled up the police map from his town. Sipping coffee he had scanned the labeled streets and territories they had marked off as gang territory. It became glaringly obvious what had happened.

Those three _idiots_ had been driving through mafia territory and just happened to stumble upon two rich brats strutting around like they probably owned the land. Feliciano may not act like a rich brat, but Ludwig had seen the signature of the famous tailor on the inside of his pants when he had picked the discarded clothes from the floor.

This was mafia business.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled and Ludwig excused himself, waving himself out as he ducked into the night air, breathing in steadily. He slid into Kiku's car and attached his laptop to the mobile radio he had set up. There was a buzz of an incoming message from the radio and Ludwig picked up with a sigh. He was unable to act alone if the two he was traveling with were truly mafia wards.

" _We're going to need back-up, Longshore street. We've got a situation; rookie's stay out of this one, we're goin' to need bigger guns,"_ the operator murmured sounding as if he'd just been woken.

 _"What's the situation?"_ Someone else buzzed in.

" _537, can't elaborate without clearance,"_ the operator answered.

" _Agent Edelstien requesting clearance,"_ Ludwig rolled his eyes, Elizabeta and Roderich must at least be in the city over to get the call.

" _Two-o'-seven and one-eighty-seven, so I've been notified. The second call is uncertain, too much blood not to call it, but you know detectives. They always make it more personal and insist we're rushing a call,"_ the operator answered annoyed.

"Did the two-o'-seven involve four individuals and a van with a noticeable sticker in it's back windows?" Ludwig asked picking up the call.

There was a pause and a buzz as the operator flicked through information.

" _Unknown,"_ the operator answered. _"If you suspect something log it or go down there, outie,"_ the operator said none too politely. Childish really, they were different police forces, not two sides of a war. He pressed the radio again hoping he was keeping the contempt out of his voice.

"10-4," Ludwig muttered.

He switched the radio off and glanced up to see Kiku and Feliciano headed towards the car. Feliciano had waved Kiku ahead as he stopped to tie his shoe. Ludwig slid into the driver's seat and started up the car earning a mildly surprised eyebrow raise from Kiku.

"You have a location?" the man asked.

"I just may," Ludwig said. "It's a gut feeling. I think the three and Lovino ran into the company of a serial killer."

Kiku's reaction was far too unprofessional. His face went pale and he shifted, pulling at his sleeves.

"Really?" he asked, his voice a higher pitch.

"Could just be my gut," Ludwig answered and watched as Kiku stiffly walked to the backseat and pulled out his phone shakily. It wasn't the idea of a serial killer, it was something else. Lovino's safety, perhaps? Which would imply Kiku served as the bodyguard to the two mafia boys. He had no idea how on the target he was, but he didn't deny himself the idea.

"Ready to go, Captain?" Feliciano asked cheerfully sliding into the passenger seat and he saw Kiku's eyes anxiously glance to Feliciano. He wanted to say something to Feliciano, but he couldn't without leaning over the middle seat. Did he want to tell Feliciano about Lovino's possible danger? Kiku looked to Ludwig desperately, begging him to tell him.

Ludwig had an idea how he was going to get the real identity of at least Kiku out. "Yes, just need to check up on a thing before we leave town," Ludwig said offhandedly, not missing Kiku's mild surprise and then irritation.

…

When your dinner host leaves saying he's thought he heard a guest, you can only assume the worst. That is, if it's Ivan Braginski. Francis had heard that unfortunate tidbit after being awoken by Antonio. He wished he could move his hand to wipe the slight drool that had dribbled down his chin, but he couldn't. As soon as they heard the door click Lovino cleared his throat.

"We escape now. I think if I nearly break my wrist trying to get out of this rope I can get free," Lovino affirmed. "Then I'll free you guys, if I have time."

Francis sent a dark look at the man, his trust waning even further for the mafia brat. He knew those Vargas born weren't to be trusted. His look turned to Antonio for being the reason they had kept the Vargas boy with them.

"Francis," Antonio begged softly. "Don't criticize me now."

The Frenchman wanted to laugh. This may be his last chance to criticize his friend before he was gutted alive as he was supposed to be eating Cream of Potato soup. Antonio's pleading look had nothing on him and he turned his dark look to the ceiling. If Alfred and Gilbert were out there… God, he hoped not. Alfred wasn't a trained professional, he was a goofy geek of a boy who believed he could be a hero if he tried. He was also more innocent than Matthew in his way of thinking, so idealistic. And Gilbert…

The Bad Touch Trio meeting their end together. Well, that's just fitting. Might as well invite his off and on lover and Matthew so he could watch everyone he cared about suffer. Who knows, maybe they were already suffering, because Lady Luck hadn't been that kind to him.

"Francis," Antonio whispered again, his voice cracking. "Don't do that. I know what you're doing."

Or maybe he was the reason everyone else suffered.

"Francis, not right now. You got over it, remember," Antonio pleaded. Francis ignored him. What would have happened if he never befriended Gilbert and Antonio. A loud sigh, almost groan drew him from his thoughts.

"I can't think with your brooding, croissant," Lovino hissed. Francis chose to ignore him, but Lovino's eyes were on him, he could feel it. "Hey, French bastard," Francis looked at him, his eyes penetrating Lovino's soul, "I think I know what's going through that head of yours. That I'm a jackass, that you're a jackass, that life isn't nice to you?" He was mostly right, Francis locked his jaw and continued staring at him. "Well guess what, you think any of us had an easy life and that you're the cause of all the problems we all face? You probably care jackshit about me, but guess what? Antonio has bigger problems than you. You want to know why he was always tired, what he had in those bags that he didn't want you to see?"

That wasn't what he was expecting. Francis's eyes darted to Antonio who was staring at Lovino in horror and he could see the Spaniard was almost going to beg the man not to say anything. His eyes connected with Francis and he smiled, about to open his mouth and reassure him Lovino was crazy, but the Italian kept going.

"You're friends a drug donkey, maybe even a dealer. Has to get drugs to the right people, because of what his daddy dearest got caught up in. He's been doing it a while; not by choice, mind you," Lovino spat.

 _Antonio?_ Francis thought in horror and looked at what he considered one of his best friends, that he thought he knew to see him looking down at the table, ashamed. His ears were tinged red as if burned by the vocalization of his other life. _Why didn't I see it?_ Francis grieved and he fell quiet as Lovino simmered in the silence.

"I don't blame you for not telling," Francis said after a moment. "I never told you about my stealing from the start." He offered this acceptance weakly, unsure. Lovino watched him as the Frenchman's blue eyes lightened considerably.

Antonio smiled up at him in apology, "I wanted to tell you and Gil, but there was no easy way to do it." The Spaniard laughed, despite the situation it was still light, although tinged with a sad air.

"Now that no one's going to start going nihilistic on us," Lovino muttered, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Francis. "What are we going to do?"

"Hope Alfred called back up," Lovino said automatically. "Or that the mafia's still tracking me well enough."

"Mafia versus Serial Killer, that'd be a fun fight to watch," Antonio joked. Lovino wasn't that amused (read: he was trying not to smile).

"Only an idiot would think that's fun," Lovino said haughtily.

A gunshot from outside froze them in their words and Francis winced. They waited with baited breath and heard another and then a patch of silence. The room was tense as every silent moment could either mean the end or a pause between the next shot. Francis fidgeted and despite every instinct screaming that was his brother, he dismissed them hoping faintly it was a mafia agent or officer. Although he would be in trouble with either. The mafia did not take theft of information lightly. Lovino listened closely, trying to picture the fight in his mind's eye. From that brief meeting with Alfred he'd gather the kid had some strength on him, but not enough to last him a close range fight.

There was a shot, one that rang through the room. One that could have rang around the world had it dared.

There was a long silence, one that Lovino had decided was the end of the fight. Francis and Antonio still hung onto the palpable air, waiting for the next shot. They all flinched as the door clicked and the unmistakable sound of Gilbert swearing up a storm in German hit their ears and the cold chuckling of the Russian.

"Don't spit, I don't want whatever diseases Fritz carry," Ivan said carefully, keeping his hand on the back of Gilbert's neck as he shoved him through the house. His friends and Lovino weren't too surprised to see him, but they were disappointed by the outcome of the fight. Gilbert didn't try to fight Ivan as the Russian tied him to a chair tightly, humming some demented song he knew; quite possibly in Russian.

"We have one more guest, than we can have dinner," Ivan said clapping his hands together in glee. " _Fredka_ will surely be pleased to see you again, Francis." The way he said it, like he had met the two before. As he turned to leave, Ivan turned to Francis and put on an innocent smile, "How's _Matvej_ doing?"

"How do you know them?" Francis found himself gritting out, his tone menacing.

"Let us just say you stole something from a used to be friend of mine. I found out and I did my research," Ivan said clipping his words as he spoke, his Russian accent dominating as some irritation leaked in. "You should be thankful. That friend of mine died, or I would have reason to torture you for that item back. Now he is dead, that would be useless. Now I torture your dear brother just for mild amusement. Equal, da?" Ivan asked as Francis stared in horror. He didn't wait for a reply as he disappeared out of the room again.

"Goddamn, Francis," first the mafia, than the a serial killer, is there anyone you don't make enemies with?"


	17. The Blimey and the Frog

**Author's Note:**

 **I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, wrapped up in finals, due dates, job hunting and illnesses. DO THEY EVER STOP? Sighs. Sometimes I'm not sure whether to a laugh or cry.**

 **So, since this is becoming the normal, my latest illnesses were CO poisoning (minor, unknown cause) and severe nausea that finally gave way to abdominal pains. Above average traces of bilirubin in the urine (related to gallbladder and liver) leads them to say gallbladder issues, but I'm going to stay open to any possibility whether it be liver, gallbladder or appendix until they do the sonogram. I have a good chance for all of them, gallbladder and biologically inherited cirrhosis runs in my family. Generally it doesn't hit people until their late 40s, but ya know, why not knock it out of the way my healthcare pays for everything.**

 **So, I have a pretty good chance of being dragged into another surgery soon so if updates get delayed again, I apologize in advance. Don't you guys worry, unless it's liver it's not like I'll die. They can just remove the offending organ and patch me back up. If it's liver then we worry, because we can't just throw that one away.**

 **Geesh. At this point I could right a book about coping with random shit thrown at me. Sorry for the long author's note, just gotta make sure you guys aren't out of the loop.**

 **END OF AUTHOR'S NOTE FOR THOSE THAT DON'T READ IT**

"So where are we going?" Feliciano asked as they drove on the mostly dark road at a reasonable pace. He considered turning on the lights just so they could speed out there, but it wasn't worth it. Especially when he wasn't _sure_ it was the idiots in the van.

"Checking on something," Ludwig muttered. With the look Kiku was giving him he wouldn't be surprised if the man pulled a gun on him sooner or later. He wasn't going to tell Feliciano it was about his brother just yet, that wasn't his bad news to bear.

He heard sirens and pulled to the side as two police cars rushed past. Feliciano's eyes widened and he looked at Ludwig curiously, but the German didn't say anything, his eyes locking on the peculiar green car following the police cars. The green car slowed, coming up beside Ludwig. The man rolled down his window and Ludwig followed suit.

In the dark, it wasn't completely clear who the other man was, just that he was a blonde.

"You heading out to the old farm?" the man hollered, an English accent twanging his words.

"Ja," Ludwig said and Feliciano raised a brow beside him. "I have a suspicion."

"Suspicion?" Feliciano questioned, growing worried.

"If it's a Spaniard and an Italian by the name of Antonio and...it started with an L I think, then you're in the right place. I'm certain that's who Alfred got the call from," the British man hollered. Beside Ludwig, Feliciano stiffened, his face melting into horror.

"Lovino?!" Feliciano screeched, his eyes going to Kiku who was supposed to be protecting the two of them from threats like this. The man could only bow his head helplessly.

"That was the name," the British man confirmed. "Follow me and I can leave you to the sight, but don't exit unless you're armed and prepared for a fire fight," the British man directed at Ludwig. Waving a hand at Ludwig he drove off, slowly at first giving Ludwig a chance to follow after him.

Ludwig spun the wheel to follow after him, but in the seat beside him Feliciano was shaking. His fists clenched and unclenched, almost as if he was considering a fight. If he was, Ludwig wasn't sure he would hesitate to pull the trigger. His eyes had already ghosted down to look at his gun before darting back down to the road.

"Ludwig..." Feliciano said quietly.

"Hm?" Ludwig questioned glancing over at the younger man.

"You think my fratello will be safe?" he asked barely audible.

"I can't be certain," Ludwig said as he kept his eyes trained on the car, his headlights catching the green paint before his eyes.

"Then there's no choice; we only have room for certainties," Kiku said softly.

There was a beat of silence and the sound of a safety being clicked off. Without looking at the gun pointed at the back of his head, he pointed his own gun at Feliciano. Kiku was hardly fazed, but Feliciano was staring at Ludwig with surprise who still kept one hand on the wheel, following after Arthur as if nothing had happened. His eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror to shoot a glare at Kiku.

"We'll have to use reserves. It is in my job description that in case I would not be enough, that we go the extra length," Kiku said to Feliciano, his finger resting on the trigger of the gun pointed at Ludwig.

"I would prefer if you're going to shoot me in the back of the head we not do it here or now," Ludwig said evenly. He should shoot Feliciano, he knew that it was Kiku's job to protect him, but if he couldn't take his eyes off the road to get a clear shot he risked the shot being for nothing.

Feliciano shook his head. "I can save my brother. I'm not helpless. We can." He amended his statement, looking at Ludwig. "The three of us." His eyes remained trained on Ludwig's face, ignoring the gun pointed at his chest. Kiku didn't look too pleased with the plan, but Feliciano shot him a pleading look. "Lovino wouldn't want a grand rescue, he would hate us for it."

"You're risking his life," Kiku said pointedly, "because you don't want to kill this man."

"No," Feliciano argued weakly, hardly believing the lie. He could care less about his brother's stubbornness at a time like this, but if he told himself it was, because Lovino would hate him for it, then it would become the truth.

Arthur had turned on his turn signal; they were close. It was either they keep driving straight and go with the inevitable or they follow Arthur and go with Feliciano's plan. The plan was left in Ludwig's hands.

Father wouldn't be proud.

He lowered the gun and turned, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel. His eyes closed momentarily as he felt, rather than saw or heard, Kiku lower the gun. Feliciano flashed a reassuring smile at him, but it faltered at the cold glare Ludwig sent him. No mistake was to be made here, Ludwig was not happy, far from it. It was not a hot, furious rage boiling inside him, but a steely loathing that froze hell over.

"I'm sorry, Luddy, if we were different people it would have worked out," Feliciano insisted, his eyes going to the window where the red and blue lights flickered ominously.

"It's no use considering 'if's'," Ludwig said, but he felt a pull in his heart at Feliciano's glance over at him. "But it _might_ have been a different story."

"It still can be."

…

" _All systems are go_."

Arthur was among one of the ones that hung back when the police broke down the door, when they searched the house from top to bottom, and when no one was there, but an empty dinner table set with food still steaming. He hadn't started crying there, but he had wanted to.

He should of known when that damned motorcycle was knocked over and holding most of its tools that Alfred hadn't got out. He should of known with the lack of vehicles in the drive that they had left, but for some reason he clinged to the hope he had arrived on time.

Despite the monumental loss, he found one thing, or rather one person near Alfred's motorcycle with his hands tied behind his back and a note around the neck.

 _Consider it a present,_

 _Braginski_.

"It's been a while," Arthur said as two blue eyes met his, "frog."

"You don't look that different," the man said, tossing his head back in poor attempt to fix the mess that his hair had become.

"And you look worse than I'd ever imagine you'd let yourself get," Arthur said snorting. He bent down to properly stare at Francis. The air wasn't tense between them. They had left on a good note, but the years that had passed and the rumors in the air during them had changed a few opinions.

"Remember Paris?" Francis said, leaning his head back against the tree.

"I try not to," Arthur said, but in truth he remembered it almost every night as he lay awake waiting for sleep to get him.

"We've sure done a lot since then. Alfred, huh? Did you remember he was my brother?" Francis asked quietly.

"I did. I did it for"- _your sake_ -" _because_ I was trying to make sure they both turned out alright, better than you," Arthur said, his usual arrogant tone breaking somewhat. He couldn't hold it out, act like this situation was like the other ones. Although, he and Francis hardly met under normal circumstances.

Francis didn't say anything more and Arthur couldn't ask any of the questions he'd been saving to ask the French man next time he'd seen him in person, because they were all void. Neither of them would no longer know the answers. The emails all seemed so distant now, almost fictional.

"Going to turn me in?" Francis finally asked.

They both could hear the sound of the officers nearby. The shouts. The distant discussions.

"My car's parked farther away. I'm a freelance investigator, I won't be working with them. I can drop you off at an airport-"

"You think I'd leave them for you to save? Last I recall, you couldn't vault a fence," Francis huffed. Their eyes connected and a shared memory passed between them. Arthur sighed.

"Fine, just don't get yourself caught in my company. You and I are connected by a considerable amount. I'd like not to be thrown in the slammer," Arthur said as he wrapped an arm around Francis's waist to work on untying the knot pinning his hands behind his back. "Entertain me though, what happened?"

"After Alfred failed to take down Ivan and I realized we were running out of time before one of us would likely end up dead, I concocted a plan."

"And like all your plans, it wasn't completely guaranteed safe for anyone nearby," Arthur muttered under his breath.

Francis just smiled. "Actually, it worked out quite well. The only problem _was_ me. I thought it all through, everyone acted well and then after it had happened I froze. I forgot how to be me."

Arthur paused and glanced into Francis's eyes. He felt something bubble in his throat and he found himself chuckling. "I'd say. You got caught."

Francis just shook his head. He sighed and began to tell Arthur what had happened.


	18. Breakdown

RoadTrip Export:

 _Breakdown_

 **Author's Note:**

 **Readers: "Who are you again?"**

 **Update: "I'm an update!"**

 **I can't remember last I left off with you guys. TL;DR—the author is still really unlucky. In order if you're curious:**

 **-Hit by a 2nd Truck, there was a 1st one April 2016, it didn't break anything, but my bike**

 **-Shattered my wrist & Got Surgery—Metal Plate makes me 1% Iron Man**

 **-Awarded 19,400 in scholarship/grant money—yer boi**

 **-Diagnosed with ADHD and PTSD (from the Truck)**

 **-Graduated May 2017, 3rd or 4th in my Class**

 **-Set to be a Computer Science B.S. Major, but I want to do some animation**

 **-Also want to do Drumline in college, but still waiting on that wrist to work completely**

 **No excuse for no updates, though, really, because I updated other-stuff on other sites. Throughout this. Yeah, so you guys just were the unlucky "you were voted off the island". Except now is the moment where we reveal that you're back and ready to get revenge! Congrats!**

 _Francis just shook his head. He sighed and began to tell Arthur what had happened._

…..

Ivan had reappeared without Alfred in tow, claiming he had better serve dinner before dealing with the mess that Alfred was. Francis had started straining against his restraints as Ivan walked past with blood coating the front of his coat. Ivan hummed something along the lines of "better put on an apron so the blood doesn't get in dishes, da?" except, it wasn't entirely in English. The large Russian disappeared into the kitchen to gather the food he had prepared for dinner. Gilbert, freshly tied to a chair, on the same side of the table as Francis could practically see the steam hissing out of Francis's ears. The four remained silent until they could hear the commotion from the kitchens again.

The moment Ivan was out of the room, Francis gave all of them a calculating look. "I have a plan. None of you will like it."

"We're all tied to a chair and in danger of dying, what more do we have to lose?" Antonio whispered optimistically, Lovino nodded along with the man, whether he knew he was doing so consciously or not. Gilbert didn't feel especially hopeful at the moment, but he nodded.

"Let it out, Francis, any plan is a good plan," Gilbert said, but he wasn't sure his heart was in it. His eyes were narrowed, his ears keenly listening to the kitchen.

"We're going to flip the table onto him."

Gilbert's attention completely fell onto Francis and he couldn't help, but stare. He wasn't alone in this endeavor. And like a possessed maniac, he laughed. "You're crazy." The other three men looked at him, varying levels of confusion. With Francis possessing the least, and Lovino possessing the most. "Let's do it." Gilbert said with a cocky grin before his voice dropped. He thought over what he just said for a moment. "How are we going to do it?"

Lovino was following Francis's train of thought and he raised his knees, slightly raising the table from where he sat. Slowly and gently he let it fall. Francis nodded at Lovino and Antonio only raised his eyebrows.

"It won't kill him and what about the people on the same side of the table?" Lovino asked, considering the plan seriously.

"Fall back, if we're lucky some of the silverware is sharp. If he doesn't give us silverware hope you fall back with enough force to break the chair," Francis suggested. His plan had a lot of holes and lot of 'if' to it, but it was a simple one that might work. Especially since there weren't many options and he wouldn't be expecting it

There was a clattering sound and Ivan reappeared holding a serving dish full of some type of soup. He filled each of the bowls at place setting with an amount of soup. As he passed Lovino, Lovino leaned away from Ivan as he poured the soup, but the man didn't notice. France made eye contact with him and shook his head, urging him to remain calm and actual natural.

Ivan took notice of Francis staring at Lovino and smiled charmingly at the two, and grabbed a knife nestled neatly among napkins and held it between the two. Lovino swallowed nervously and prepared at all costs to swing his chair backwards to avoid a fatal stab wound while Francis lowered his eyes and head, avoiding eye contact, acting submissive. Without hesitating, Ivan drove the blade in one fell gesture a couple of centimeters into the table in front of Francis—while it wasn't a particular show of strength, it was a message enough.

"Let's refrain from conspiring against the host, yes?" Ivan demanded, leaving the knife in front of Francis as he slipped out of the room again to fetch plates with the main course. Again, the four made eye contact and Gilbert eyed the quivering knife.

"Ivan's eyes are gonna be all on Francis, because _clearly_ , he has some beef to shred with you," Gilbert muttered, before turning to Lovino and speaking lowly he said, "which means Antonio and you, Lovi—can I call you Lovi-"

"No." Gilbert looked at him squarely, before shaking his head and looking at Antonio instead.

"Killjoy," he muttered in afterthought before addressing his friend. "Toni," Antonio looked sharply to Gilbert, "You and Lovino need to be the ones to flip the table."

The two men looked down at the table and Antonio hesitantly raised his knees to test if he could do it, but his chair wobbled and leaned back precariously. "My chair's too far forward," he said quietly, keeping his voice low as the clattering of plates quieted momentarily.

"Slide it back," Francis said, "quickly." But as Antonio made to do so, Ivan slid back out of the kitchen, plates in hand. The four broke eye contact and each tried to look at everything, but each other and their host. Their host in turn, made sure to look at each of them and measure each of their danger level to himself. Antonio who was trying to avoid sweating bullets caught his attention.

Carefully, Ivan paused next to his chair and surveyed the quiet Lovino next to him, Francis who was looking at the ceiling and Gilbert who was kicking the floor in an impromptu drum rhythm. Gilbert, out of the corner of his eye could see Ivan's smile become strained again.

"I see," he said quietly, and he set down the plates he had been carrying, and giggled quietly to himself. "You think I haven't noticed your planning, your 'natural' acting or your silly little game. You think me blind," Ivan said, and despite his sing-song-y tone, he held a valid threat he planned to follow through on.

Francis tried no to look up, but he ended up flinching when he heard a spoon clatter onto the dish. He glanced up and made eye contact with Francis, and he regretted it. The serial killer could read his eyes, the hatred and malice behind them and the planning. Ivan's suspicions were only being confirmed.

"I don't wish to cut dinner short, but seeing as your manners hardly improve even under the hospitality of a host..." Ivan left off, and moved suddenly, to Francis's side, close to the table. He gripped the knife and pulled it free, and Gilbert panicked. Maybe it was his foot tapping. Maybe it was his mind going back to old drum-set days of tapping the rickety pedal on the bass-drum, and the day it broke during a concert and he had to kick the bass, but he tried to kick a serial killer.

He landed a solid blow on Ivan's shin which didn't cause him to miraculously fall and stab himself with his own knife, but he bent slightly, his legs giving a bit, before he caught them and at that time, Antonio and Lovino made eye contact, and Lovino gave it his all, shoving his knees hard into the table and lifting it a good quarter by himself until Antonio had an opening to help him. Whether it be bafflement, or the adrenaline in Ivan already falling away to the muscle-tightening lactic acid that ruined the fluidity of responses, he fell back, under the table while Gilbert and Francis rapidly tried to fall back in such a way the old, but sturdy chairs would break.

Francis's chair fell, luckily not under the table, but besides falling, not a single crack emerged, and he had no means to pulls his wrists and arms free. Not only that, but the sudden jolt was playing with his vision and hearing, a static-like pain filling his head. Gilbert had more success, his chair broke and his already loose bonds—as Ivan tied them more hurriedly than he did for the unconscious three—came loose. Not so luckily, however, was from his knee down, his leg was still lodged under the table. His chair had fallen sideways and half of the back of the chair had cracked, ruining the areas in which the rope was tied around. He was stuck laying on his side, his back to Ivan, but luckily, the knife landed closer to him, than Ivan. Without thinking, he snatched up the steak knife, and then held still, unsure what to do with it.

Ivan was fuming, from the waist down he was trapped underneath the table. He tried to lift the table, but wasn't in a prime position to do so. He couldn't pull the table off or push it off from where he sat, nor could he sit up with how his apron was pinned over his coat.

Lovino on the side of the table that hadn't fallen started wrestling his wrists free, wiggling his arms this way and that. He tugged he flexed his wrists and managed to pull one out. He loosened the rope on the other wrist and pulled it free. One both of his wrists were free, he was able to pull his arms out of the rope. He stood gracefully and surveyed the situation.

It was hell, the spilled soup was staining the floors, food askew all over the three trapped on the other-side of the table. Francis was mostly spared, but Ivan looked especially angered. The hot soup had spilled all over his scarf and coat, not only burning him, but staining the handmade scarf and treasured coat.

Not that Lovino cared. The mafioso checked his pockets, but his wallet, the pocket knife, and Antonio's cellphone were gone. His shoes were also gone, he noticed offhandedly, which wasn't something he was familiar with in the few mafia interrogations that really did go down the deep end. It was smart though, he'd have to remember that later.

Antonio made an impatient noise and almost knocked his chair over, trying to pull his wrists free from the rope and Lovino snorted. He stepped around the askew silver-wear and the shattered vase on the floor. His sock-footed feet toed the danger and he bent down and slid a steak knife out of a napkin. He cut the rope from Antonio's wrists and let the man pull the rest off himself.

"We have to help Franny and Gil," Antonio hissed. He tugged off the ropes and stood up, rubbing his sore wrists. Ivan gave a tremendous shout and attempted to heave the table off of him. With growing rage he grabbed a spoon and threw it with almost deadly accuracy at Gilbert who yelped and ducked, still trying to tug his leg out from underneath the heavy oak table. Antonio hesitated briefly, but took the steak knife from Lovino and dashed to Francis's side and began to hastily cut away at the rope securing him to the chair.

Lovino cursed in his native language, something along the lines of, _yeah, make me help the one right in front of the serial killer, conquistador savior my ass_. Yet, he did it anyway, because he had been traveling with these idiots long enough that letting one of them die would probably be cruel and unusual and keep him up at night. It'd keep him up at night with the sound of their annoying ghosts badgering him—and the cruel and unusual punishment of putting up with them for the rest of his life.

He bent down beside Gilbert and wrapped one hand around the man's exposed calf and leaned against the table, pressing his shoulder against the food-stained wood. He was semi-grateful Ivan didn't try to throw a fork into his eye, but he knew why the man wasn't. Not out of any friendliness. Lovino had no choice, but to lift the table, and Ivan planned on using even a second of freedom to pull his legs out, or further out.

Praying to some higher power, Lovino braced his shoulder against the table, and lifted the table up a few centimeters and pulled on Gilbert's calf. His leg budged an inch, but it wasn't enough.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw two things. Francis was mostly free—Antonio had managed to cut through one of the knots, but apparently Ivan had taken his time tying Francis to the chair. And the second was Ivan had more success than he had, managing to pull his legs out further. No longer was he pinned from the waist down, but only from the bottom half of the thighs.

"How in the ever-loving fuck does he, a larger man than you, have more room to pull his body out?" Lovino growled, and Gilbert stared at him petrified. Lovino noticed as he lifted the table that _of course_ the table wasn't completely flat around the edges—he had completely missed that fact when there was a table cloth on it and a serial killer parading around with fancy dishes. The table was sloped, reaching out further towards the ends, but caving in at the middle. Even with Ivan's girth, a few more centimeters was enough to free him.

"Don't call my calves and feet fat," Gilbert said shakily with a crack of humor, "just get them out."

Lovino was tempted to drop the table, but Ivan had managed to get to the top half of his knees and was sitting up now. The serial killer pulled one of his arms free that had been trapped by the twisting of the apron and coat under his back. With that free arm, he gripped the edge of the table and tried edging it up more. Lovino cursed and shoved his end of the table up a few more centimeters than necessary, and practically threw Gilbert's leg free. He let the table drop hard, hoping to catch Ivan off guard, but of course not.

Ivan had watched him the whole time, the man braced his arm, and the table fell a couple of centimeters at most, but not far enough that Ivan found himself in more pain or trapped further. Lovino pulled Gilbert up who winced, leaning heavily on the leg that hadn't been trapped. Antonio was still working on the other knot holding Francis's other arm and Lovino darted around the table to help him.

Francis glanced up at the free Gilbert. "Did you see earlier where he took Alfred?"

Gilbert nodded shakily, before shaking his head and saying, "It's no use. I wouldn't be able to grab him alone. That crazy psycho threw him in a fr-frigging fr-freezer and lock-cked it. A fr-freezer. It pr-probably has b-body parts in it like Hills Have Eyes or some shit," Gilbert was stuttering, all of the events catching up to him in a terrific moment. "Let's just get the f-fuck out of here, Fr-Franny. I'm done. I'm l-literally done. This whole tr-trip. Done. I can't."

"Now is not the time for a break-down, not after everything we've had to do," Lovino snapped, grabbing the knife from Antonio and getting to work on cutting the knot with much more ease than Antonio. "You jumped a goddamn bridge, kidnapped me and my fratello, you out-run police, climb out a hotel window, and got us into this mess after the spiraling events in which you lost a bet to get someone's number and got drunk like some lowlife loser and pissed off the wrong guy. Don't tell me after all the death threats from police and mafia alike, don't tell me after risking your own life, that after all that, you're going to freak out while we're trying not to die again."

Gilbert shook his head and he seemed riled. A glint appeared in his eye and he looked at a cross between being angry and defending himself, or running from the seen and stealing a car and hitch-hiking it home to his apartment. Antonio took the long way around to perhaps comfort Gilbert in a hug, even though the man was terrified himself, but another friend encouraged Gilbert before that.

Flying from god-knows what hell that bird was shoved in, a slightly ruffled Gil-bird appeared. _Pio!_ It cried, and landed on Gilbert's head, nestling in the white-blonde hair in a truly touching moment.

Lovino got Francis free and it all went happy-ending, bright-sunshines from there.

….

"Or," Francis said, sitting in the passenger seat of Arthur's ugly green car, "that's how it should have gone." He was gripping a warm-cup of coffee, bought for him by the sympathetic—despite claiming otherwise—Arthur who cast a worried, yet guarded look at Francis.

The men stared at the road and the bright-lights of the city approaching. The sirens weren't visible or audible anymore, hidden behind trees kilometers back, far from where they were now. Yet if Francis strained, he could still hear the crunch of gravel, the crickets, and the sirens. All signs that he had failed. The outside had a faintly smoky smell too, likely because of the kitchen fire—Ivan hadn't turned off the stove, he had desert baking in there, and that smoky smell clung to him. His clothes, his hair. Yet he could smell the lavender somewhat witchy-ozone smell that pervaded Arthur's car. It was relaxing, familiar, yet distant. He could still smell Antonio's cologne mixed with the lingering high-brand cologne Lovino had been wearing when he was trying to cut the ropes off, the creamy soup on the floor decimeters from his face, the sweet and salty main-course he never identified.

All those smells, were the first thing he could think of when he had to recall it. Then there was the shouts that followed. There were shouts, and there were screams. Screams that made his hair stand on end.

"Francis," Arthur said softly, "can you tell me if, if Alfred..."

Francis remembered, he remembered more moments than he wanted to, but he didn't think they were any better than what Arthur wanted to know. "He's alive, likely, but it's not any better."

Arthur pursed his lips, he disproved of nihilism in general, and he despite his own cynicism, he never liked hear Francis talk that way. "He has a strong heart, good lad. Think he inherited your impulsiveness and stubborn qualities through your nuture, but those qualities won't hurt him now. You always did tell Alfred he could be anything—he'll still be a hero no matter where he's...thrown," Arthur said, speaking more to himself than to Francis, but Francis listened all the same, quirking his lips.

"Remember when you said you took him on as an apprentice to keep him out of _my_ trouble," Francis remarked, finishing off the coffee, which although bland, he could hardly care for. He shoved it into the neat cup-holder that had a few paper-clips and a quarter, but none of the residue and stash of papers Gilbert's van had. Arthur hummed, his attention returning to the road as he entered a curvy road that would bring them to the city's entrance. "You didn't succeed. You lead him right to the bear, wrapped up, covered in sausage, and smelling like a freshly-dead deer."

He said it to make Arthur mad, and he knew he succeeded. Arthur's mouth settled in a hard-line and the moment he was back on the straight-road that was mostly empty he fully turned to glower at Francis.

"You. _You_. Do you have any idea how much guilt I already feel about not just telling him straight or just accepting he might have been right?" Arthur's anger became latent road-rage, and he honked at someone who took a moment too long to turn. "Do you have any idea how much I badger myself that if I had just kept him on the phone or swung by his room, I could have stopped his foolishness?" Without taking his eyes of the road, he jabbed a finger in Francis's chest. "And you. What were you thinking? Going on some hare-brained road-trip, because you've all wasted your lives one-way or another and hate yourselves, and tying the bundle on all the trouble you've already got yourself in and delivering it all to, not only yourself, but everyone you care about. Including myself." Arthur laughed grimly, and they drifted into busy street traffic. There was a beat of silence, than two before Arthur closed his eyes for a second.

He opened them after a deep breath, "Francis, I risked my title and my life at one point to pull you out of neck-deep shite, and trusted that you weren't lying to me in those emails, that maybe you generally were trying to be a better person, but you haven't changed at all. You're selfish, you self-destructive no good bastard, I-"

Arthur stopped, and took a deep breath. "I wish with every ounce of my being I could hate you, that I could pull over, or better, pull-up to a police station and turn you in, but believe it or not, I'm not you. I'm not a coward and not only is Alfred in danger, but Matthew could be in the future and I'm not about to tell Alfred at the end of this, I threw you to the dogs. No, we'll paint the nice happy picture, that you thought about other people, that you took care of yourself and you, the loving, caring, older brother that's fun, exciting and _such_ a good role model would do anything for them."

They were at Arthur's hotel, and Arthur was crying. Francis was frozen to the seat. His early inhibitions about tuning out Arthur's rant gone, and he felt a pang in his chest. It would be easy now to promise he could change, but not so much in a few weeks, in a few days, when things got rough again. So he didn't promise a change, but he reached his hand over, and touched Arthur's shoulder.

"Get your hands off me, you slimy frog, I don't need your 'comfort,'" Arthur snapped, sniffling and wiping tears away, but Francis didn't pull back.

"Mon cherie, I haven't changed, I'm still a coward, but I will not give up on my friends or Alfred. I will put full force into helping you find them," Francis said, but Arthur didn't even look at him.

"And then after?" He pulled his keys out of the ignition. "You'll disappear. Won't even send a birthday card to Alfred, or congratulate Matthew on getting the internship or being hired by a respectable company. The only news they'll hear from you is your name on a wanted poster in some small town in backwoods Europe. Francis," he looked at the man, and Francis felt himself recoil some out of a fear as Arthur's eyes held not hatred, but the holiest of commitment, "you will either promise me you'll be a better man, and I'll help you wipe your blacklist clean and take up a respectable job, or..." Without hesitating, he grabbed Francis's wrist, twisted it and pulled Francis painfully forward, inches from his own face. "I will make sure to drop you off to whatever country or state has the highest punishment for the crimes you've committed."

"Arthur, that's asking a lot-" Francis started, but Arthur didn't budge.

"This isn't like Paris, Francis. You either agree, or you face the law."

"Mon cherie-"

"Don't start with me-"

"Sweetheart-"

"I'm not being swayed-"

"Darling-"

"Francis-"

"Arthur-"

" _Francis_ -"

"I can't, Arthur-"

"Bugger, you can't," Arthur snapped, "you stole half of the finest artworks and information around, and you can't steal yourself a better half."

"Arthur, I can't fix myself," Francis pleaded.

"Have you ever tried, or do you just say the same thing over and over, like a broken record?" Arthur growled, and despite his anger, he released Francis's wrist. "Why do I even bother? Fine, stay the same Francis, it's not like I can make you change anyway. You'll run off, and the rest of us will sweep up the ashes. Stick around, bug off, I don't care," Arthur said and he slid out of the car, but Francis caught him by the back of his shirt.

"Don't, Arthur, I'm going to help you on this," Francis pleaded, "I can help you find them, I need to help you find them—don't you want, need to hear the rest?" Francis questioned. Arthur paused and he sighed reluctantly. He ran a hand down his face.

"Yes, I do," he said. "Well come on, it'll be easier to do in my hotel suite. Don't get any nasty ideas, we don't have much time to solve these issues." Arthur muttered and closed the car door behind him, leaving Francis to follow him on his own accord. Without a hesitation, other than to immaturely, for a moment, consider sticking his tongue out and pretending it was like old-times, he followed. Yet any jokes and pleading was crushed by the pounding memory of how much went wrong, and how much was his fault.


	19. Ugly

**Author's Note:**

 **It's been a month and another update actually came around rather than a random hiatus. I'm going to try for consistency and make the update for this the 19th at 6:00 PM? That sounds about safe. Classes won't be at that time (likely) and even if I'm eating dinner, the campus—from what I've seen so far—has wifi pretty much all the way around (like Disney World!).**

"So," Arthur said, shrugging off his shoes and his coat, "where did you mess it up?" Francis was sitting on his hotel bed. The man himself had also shamelessly shrugged off his shirt and dirty socks—as the shoe predicament was no one had their shoes—and was eying Arthur's bathroom, itching to wash the smells that stayed with him from his skin. He didn't though. Instead, he surveyed Arthur.

"Did you freeze up? Finally getting old enough that you have your moments where you're not as young and limber as you used to be?" Arthur questioned, pulling out the desk chair and relaxing into it. Following an old habit, he reached over for a pen and small hand notebook. Francis would have smiled in better moods.

"No, non," Francis murmured. "I threw aside all rational motive, all reason, everything I use to get out of situations, to move on," Arthur rolled his eyes and mouthed 'if you had any', "and I tackled Ivan."

Arthur froze, his pen uncapped posed above the paper, but made no movement to write. He stared Francis dead in the eyes, looking for an untruth, but found none. "Why? What in God's name ever possessed you to tackle him?"

"He had a gun, Alfred's gun, underneath the apron, underneath that damned coat. He didn't have his pipe, he had Alfred's gun. And merde. I didn't use my head," Francis said, itching for that shower or something to drink. "And he wasn't even aiming it at me, or Toni or even Gil, he was aiming it at the stupid Italian Mafioso that Antonio didn't even frisk properly," Francis broke in heavily, his voice filled with wariness. Arthur was staring at him silent, but forming a judgment, his pen hadn't moved yet. "But Antonio, Antonio who would stare at Lovino as if losing him would end him, and Gilbert who looked traumatized to all hell, and Lovino, really not too much in age difference from Alfred. Just as naive, just as idealistic, if not for different ideals. I saw Alfred, I didn't keep business and personal separate. There were other options, safer options. Non, I tackled Ivan." Francis collapsed onto the bed, laying on his back with his feet hanging over the edge.

"And they weren't going to leave me, not even that stupid mafioso. Because he loved Antonio, and my friends loved me. And I don't know why, but it hurt more that they wouldn't leave," Francis said, out of breath.

"I...see..." Arthur spoke slowly, and he capped the pen, lowered the notebook and slid it back onto his desk. He crossed his arms over his lap and looked at Francis in a different light. "Go on."

"What's there to know?" Francis said grimly, "I was hardly a fighting force, I missed a good bit of action until it all went wrong. Had the air knocked out of me. But not before I threw Alfred's gun far away from him." Arthur winced, and Francis raised an eyebrow. He picked up on the problem and snorted. "You know what was funny? I held Alfred's gun for a few minutes, I should have shot him. But you know what was on the gun? A little American flag sticker that glittered, a bald eagle sticker from with a National Geographic logo, and the superman symbol. All Alfred ever wanted to be, was be the hero. And his gun was covered in blood, probably his blood. And I threw it. I threw it far away from me like a coward, because I didn't want to touch it. I didn't want to imagine Alfred handling a gun like a baby, because he was convinced that he could be a hero. His childish little tendencies..."

"Francis, tell me what you do remember," Arthur said calmly, but Francis could see he was crafting his own little mask in place. He didn't want to admit to Francis this disturbed him too.

"Antonio and Gilbert went to go find Alfred while I was still being untied. For that second, Ivan still seemed pinned. Yet it didn't last."

.….

"Got you," Lovino huffed, pulling on the rope as it came free. He helped pull the rope off Francis as the man slid off the fallen chair and struggled to stand up. Lovino grabbed his upper-arm and pulled him up, but they weren't the only ones standing, so was Ivan.

He was shaking. Purely apoplectic. On the fringe of murdering them in seconds.

And that's when Ivan started to giggle.

Yet when he opened his mouth he was cursing them something old, something chilling, and something in Russian. Francis and Lovino put the table between themselves and Ivan, but the man didn't seem bothered. Reaching into a pocket tucked away beneath those clothes, he pulled out, not his trusty iron pipe, but a gun. He considered the gun, he held it up, held it to the light and really looked at it, before he took the safety off, cocked it, and pointed the barrel towards the two of them.

Ivan was a sight to see. Covered in food, his blonde hair hanging matted and in a disarray around his head. The scarf askew, hanging nearly to the floor on one-side and barely clinging on the other. His coat was open beneath the apron that was nearly falling off of him as well, the pink material and green frills hardly adding benevolence to the murder gaze he bestowed upon them over the barrel. Or the grin so white, vultures could have just been pecking the meat from the bones.

"No fun," Ivan panted, "anymore. Play time is over." He took a deep breath. "It ends quickly." And he fired.

They both saw his finger on the trigger before he fired and had responded before the bullet hit the glass cabinet full of priceless fine-china behind them. Lovino was ducking down next to an antique chest and Francis on the opposite side of the room was near a doorway. He knew not where it lead, but that it might lead somewhere better.

Ivan considered the two of them, and there was more time Francis could have used to run, but Lovino had nowhere to run without running past Ivan again. It was too close of range and he wasn't going to leave the guy that just saved his life. Francis watched in a bit of stunned horror as Ivan raised the gun and pointed it at Lovino who looked for cover or a place to run, but unless he was going to contest Ivan who outweighed him, was stronger, and had a weapon, he was alone.

And so Francis did the dumbest thing he could think of. While Ivan's back was to him, he used the sprinting he reserved for getting away, vaulting fences, and getting last-minute fashion items going on sale and he surged for Ivan. He _tackled Ivan_ , using all the wiry muscle he possessed into bowling the man over.

And he succeeded, for the most part. Ivan in a momentarily shock dropped the gun and it skidded across the floor towards the kitchen. Lovino bolted, heading towards the gun, but he wasn't close enough. Ivan threw off Francis in a matter of seconds and went for the gun, but so did Francis.

His head was swimming, his mouth felt dry and he faintly tasted something sour, something like copper, but he stood back up and went for the gun. He went faster than the staggering beast that Ivan was. It was Lovino that technically reached the gun first, but Ivan reached it shortly after and lo and behold, his pipe made a reappearance to swing at Lovino.

 _I dived in and grabbed the gun and back-pedaled, just as Lovino did. Lovino was near the door. All I had to do was fire the gun at Ivan. Kill him preferably, collect Alfred and leave. It should have been that easy. Even after that first stunt, I had luck on my side._

Francis stared at the gun, at the tacky stickers and blood, but it wasn't an immediate reaction to throw it. It was Ivan staring at him, smiling, holding the pipe with one-hand and staring at the gun with the other.

"Does Fredka know you've never killed a man? Yet he trains to do so, intends to do so." Ivan taunted, but Francis could only hear blood rushing in his ears. "Prove me different, _mokraya kritsa_ [literally: wet hen; objectively: coward (with contempt)] _."_

 _In American flicks, the protagonist would pull the trigger. The villain would gasp, hold his heart, and fall over. La Victoire! Non, not quite. Ivan didn't die and I didn't pull the trigger. I'm not a hero, nor brave, but there's something sickening in killing someone, even someone like him._

Ivan took a step towards him, one hand outstretched to grab the gun, the other firmly on his pipe. Francis couldn't pull the trigger. No matter how many times he imagined Ivan dying, for it to be over, it seemed far from the earlier panic. He could see the other, living breathing man in front of him, and he hesitated.

"Non," Francis shook his head, and he threw the gun far from where either of them stood, and whether another wrestling match for the gun would have ensued was lost, as Ivan didn't even bother and Francis felt the blow across his face, slamming him into the wall and then into the floor before he registered Ivan moving. It hadn't been with Ivan's pipe, but Ivan's hand. He had slapped Francis. He hadn't tried to bash Francis's brains out and leave him for dead, but knocked him to the ground. He felt Ivan kick him hard in the stomach, and then he heard Lovino curse and swear up a storm. Yet Lovino, despite his cowardice, didn't leave him. The man must have tried something, perhaps picked up a steak knife and tried to go in hand to hand combat with Ivan, but he fell like a bag of potatoes, cursing. Not dead, Italian curses running along his tongue and Francis could hardly stop his head from spinning. It wasn't the slap that hurt, but slamming his head against the wall and floor. Faintly he could hear someone groaning, the high pitches of Antonio's Spanish lilt when he was nervous and Gilbert muttering. He saw faintly in his blurred vision, Lovino holding his wrist to his side, his face bleeding from some point on the scalp, he saw the hulking figure of Ivan stroll to the hallway Antonio and Gilbert took off down previously.

Francis, put both of his hands on the floor, took a deep breath and stood up again. His head spinning. There was a ringing in his ears, there was blood pulsing through his jaw and he felt off-balance. He picked up the knife Lovino dropped, nearly tumbling to the floor in the process and followed after Ivan. He wouldn't make the same mistake, he had to kill Ivan.

It would have been easier, if he had been holding Ivan at gunpoint in this situation, to pull the trigger. Ivan had Gilbert by the shirt collar, Alfred was lying on the floor groaning, bloodied and bruised the worst with bruises that were already fading to black from earlier, and Antonio was trying to pull Alfred up, but couldn't, nor could he turn his back to the fight between Gilbert and Ivan..

And Ivan in that moment made eye contact with Francis, and he shifted his grip on Gilbert's collar to one hand and raised his pipe with the other.

 _The worst scream you can remember is your own as you stand helpless to watch it unfold._

Gilbert slumped immediately after. It was a morbid pitch and swing of the balls. He threw Gilbert against the counter and swung the pipe directly at his jaw. Gilbert got lucky when he turned his head. Maybe he didn't break his jaw. Only his nose and a few teeth.

….

"You can stop Francis," Arthur said, and he meant it.

"I can't, I should have fired," Francis whispered to empty air. "From there. It was….no one was on the brink of death or dead, but I can't guarantee….that some would last more than a day or two like they were. There were sirens, he sensed them. He took the van, he took the van, he took them, and I'm not sure to where or why. He didn't take Gilbert—I don't even know if he's alive. He dragged me out before...before...Mon...mon Dieu..."

Arthur sighed and despite himself, he sat next to Francis on the bed and put his hand on his knee. "Francis, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that all up now. It's a bad enough time as it is."

"I'm not mad you did, Mon Cherie," Francis muttered, regaining his composure. He sighed and turned his head to stare at Arthur, "I forgive you all the same. Tell me why he would take them?"

Arthur squeezed Francis's knee and thought about it. "He still needs money, right, as any human being does. Lovino has worth to the mafia, Antonio might have some, and Alfred...Alfred has worth to us. He wants to hurt those parties. He couldn't exactly hurt anyone by keeping you, but you were also a risk, Francis," Arthur contemplated.

Francis snorted, "Gee, what a compliment, Mon Cherie."

Arthur couldn't stop himself, and he snorted as well. It was ungentlemanly and crude, but he had. He lay down beside Francis, his feet hanging off the bed. "You're a professional escape artist. The only people he could ransom you to are the police, and that's hardly profitable."

They lay in silence until Francis muttered, "Paris, huh?"

Arthur stared at him, "Get up and take a shower you slimy frog. You smell like a swamp."

"And change into your clothes after, no thank-you," Francis sniffed, but sat up anyway.

"Then you can—No, I'm not suggesting that," Arthur muttered and sat up again. "I'm going to bed, tomorrow morning we're tracking leads my way. And I may need some of your old resources. Eight AM, sharp."

"Yes, mon amour, mon fiance," Francis taunted, as he disappeared into the bathroom.

….

 _Before Arthur found Francis…_

Ludwig couldn't believe his eyes, and neither could Kiku standing next to him. "Gilbert Beilschmidt," Ludwig greeted and cringed internally. They had found the man in question thrown in the shed behind the house. Whether Ivan assumed he was going to die or not, Gilbert had been hardly conscious, but had been remarkably able to stay awake and act coherent in the following moments as they untied him and patched him up best as possible.

The albino, injured as he was, was still a criminal. Gilbert looked up at Ludwig, ignoring the EMT's annoyed scoff who was trying to give him a concussion test. Not only did Gilbert look subdued, but he looked downright ugly. He had gauze in his mouth, gauze covering his nose, and was holding an icepack to his head. His wrists were raw from rope burn and his clothes were covered in dirt (from the romp around outside trying to escape Ivan).

The police men hadn't taken much convincing and received their necessary clearance details to release the suspect/victim to them in order to solve the original mystery from a local call from the stiff Roderich. The FBI agent was still on the way, having been stalled by traffic, as police attempted to slow down all exits to the city to catch Ivan. Overall, this situation was still on "pretty damn awful outcome."

Ignoring the increasingly annoyed EMT who was just trying to do his job, Gilbert grabbed a notepad the EMT was using to note his injuries and flipped to a blank page, scribbled a message on it, and held it up for Ludwig to see.

' _I don't know where he took them.'_

Ludwig narrowed his eyes and the EMT stepped between them. "Sirs, the patient is concussed and needs medical rest, unless he-"

Gilbert motioned for the EMT to look at him, and then gestured to the EMT's clipboard. The EMT wasn't an idiot. "Are you sure you want to defer medical treatment?" Gilbert nodded, and then winced as the motion caused him pain. "Alright, sign here." The EMT handed him the clipboard and glared at Ludwig.

Kiku apologetically smiled for Ludwig, while Ludwig felt a small bit of shame. They had no idea where the other two criminals were, or where Feliciano's brother was, or the detective's assistant ended up. Arthur hadn't cared about talking to Gilbert, and out of some sort of fanatic desperation, went loping around in the woods before even the back-up search teams did. Ludwig didn't see any reason to it, even though he had been in a similar circumstance of losing his partner once. Acting irrational and desperate didn't bring them back.

Gilbert finished signing off his own release and tore off a few sheets of paper from the man's notepad before handing it back. The disgruntled EMT left, not impressed with the people he just met. On a new piece of paper, before Ludwig could ask him anything, he wrote: _'They were alive last I saw but Alfred looked in poor condition. Lovino and Antonio and Francis looked OK."_

"Alfred is the name of the assistant detective, correct?" Kiku asked, and Gilbert nodded. Ludwig hesitated to press for more, but Kiku jumped in for him.

"How did you get involved with such a man?" Kiku was giving Gilbert a stony look, and Ludwig was reminded that this mafia bodyguard had a sole goal in mind of protecting the two brothers at any cost. If he illegally assaulted the criminal/victim/witness than Ludwig would pay for it.

Gilbert frowned. He turned the paper over and scribbled, _'he attacked us for no reason!'_

"You did something to him," Ludwig said, and Gilbert glared at him. He opened his mouth, but the gauze reminded him he couldn't and the man shut it again and wrote on a new piece of paper. _'I was only a LITTLE rude'._

 **I hope I won't hiatus this again. This is my crazy and random fiction, and its a lot less impressionable and straight-forward and aiming to please than some of my other works. I just sort of feel like this is the "drunk and looking to have fun" fiction, that doesn't care—like my Hungarian friend who speaks about going to clubs and tapping into a little more than alcohol, but enjoying life.**

 **That being said, thank-you for the reviews. Especially, you sweet-heart with the long review that I think translated very well to English. Don't feel bad, I don't expect comments or views and I prefer the quiet following. And I'll definitely consider that possibility for Gilbert. I'll probably rehost the survey. The old readers that voted on that may not be around and reading this anymore, and so likely they will not care so much what ship he ends up with, but current readers will.**

 **Also, to the other two, glad to see your enjoyment. Also, I'm glad one of my old readers saw an update—yeah, we're both surprised there. I sort of opened the document one day on accident, read through it and saw a half started chapter and I was like…. "I have an idea."**

 _ **That was a long author's note, but if you can spare words for me, I can waste more on you. I'm apparently being more affectionate today, so I guess enjoy!.**_


	20. Secret Keeping

_Previously—since it's been…6-7 months 0.0!_

 _ **In the Author's Life:**_

 _Freshman in College that's dealing with stuff. Have to drop and retake Engineering Calculus 1 and moved rooms due to a roommate issue, but let's get to it!_

 _ **In the Story—Previously**_

 _Francis and Arthur have joined up—with hints of a past relationship and tensions in their current friendship they struggle to work together to find Alfred—their common protegee and Francis's friends—from wherever, serial killer Ivan Braginski took them._

 _Ivan Braginski has taken three with him in his escape for unknown…possibly revenge..related reasons—including Alfred F. Jones, Antonio Carriedo and Lovino…they escaped in the infamous van…it's on the road again._

 _Gilbert was left in bad shape—but alive and found by the police. While he is a criminal—he's also a key witness for the uncatchable serial killer._

 _And Ludwig, Feliciano and Kiku work reluctantly together to find out where Ivan has gone to save Lovino._

… _._

Gilbert, despite his request, was treated by the police medical center before he was placed in a conference room with moderate security. He didn't even consider sleep, but all the same did. He dragged out two chairs, laid down on them and passed out before he knew it. He felt ten kinds of awful and was awoken by the loud noise of the door swinging open and then closing with a firm thud. He woke up, groggy and rubbed his jaw. The ibuprofen the medical center had given him had definitely worn off. Across from him was the familiar brunette from the hotel and a man in glasses with a stern look.

"Gilbert Beilschidmt," the man said as Gilbert reluctantly sat up, swaying. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. He had only been asleep for two hours. The brunette traced the pattern of his injuries concerned and the stern one sighed and pulled out a seat across from him. "I am FBI detective Roderich Edelstein and this is police officer Elizabeta Hedervary. Before we start, as a choice of ethics—at any time your injuries become too painful to go on, you can request a stop in the interrogation and pursue medical treatment."

Gilbert snorted, "Can't afford it, really." He cracked his neck, wincing at the stiff pain. He regretted speaking almost immediately, he opened a wound and blood was running down the back of his throat. He was in no position to really give any sort of testimony and they knew it too. They were desperate. Gilbert didn't know what he was anymore. He felt a mix of emotions, but none were clear. Shock—the only word for it. The feelings ran through him and he felt them like electric pulses, his skin and eyes twitching with the revulsion, fear, anger, screams—everything was under his skin. Shock.

The electric chair churning and frying him.

Leaning back in the chair, he steeled his expression, grimaced, and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Hit me with it."

The brunette grimaced considerably at the phrasing and took her seat while the stern one addressed his file. "You're facing considerable charges—but that can be…lessened," the man grimaced saying that. "Fortunately for you, the man who injured you is a _highly_ wanted man and there are few who survive to tell the tale. You are not the first, but you are the first in a year and a half—and one of the two who…aren't as disfigured." Gilbert rolled his eyes, his beautiful face was ruined whether they acted like his jaw wasn't going to need surgery and that his cheek bone wasn't likely fractured. Maybe only a surface break, but his nose was most definitely not straight. Broken. He may only pass for roguishly handsome now.

"We have a lawyer on site—but it would please us if you would answer these few questions—however, you do know anything you say, can and will be used in court proceedings," Elizabeta said carefully, with a stressed smile. She made eye contact with Roderich who tersely nodded and inclined his head to the paper she had. She scanned it before asking the first question.

"What details can you provide on the kidnapping of the Vantoss twins?" she questioned, and Gilbert's eyebrows raised. Feliciano had lied. The question was, should he continue to lie for the mafia brats.

"I accidentally hit them avoiding you and the blonde tight-ass," Gilbert muttered. He liked pretending he was cool with this interrogation—but it wasn't like he was Francy who had done this before. Francis had mentioned suave lines he had fed to them, but Gilbert himself could only imagine telling them the truth. He didn't know how to lie in this situation. He could lie, but not well in front of figures like this. He could lie to the average person, but this setting, these injuries, Gilbert was screwed.

"What injuries did they sustain? And why did you take the twins with you?" Roderich added.

Gilbert didn't actually know. Feliciano was never hit—Lovino didn't act bruised, but complained of headaches—so concussed. Or back related. One of the two.

"No clue, both seemed relatively okay," Gilbert admitted and then considered how'd the next thought would sound in court—terrible. "I wanted to make sure they were okay—but also didn't want to stop and call 911—because, well, we were avoiding you." Gilbert was lying—he and Francis's first solution had been disposing of the evidence, but they weren't thinking reasonable—and the jury would likely love that.

Roderich didn't like the answer and immediately his eyes narrowed in on Gilbert, sharp and threatening. "Did you realize—at the time, just what level of criminal offense you put yourself in, because you wouldn't pull over?"

Gilbert was so terrible at this, mein Gott, he hated his answers too—but in a fit of frustration he leaned forward in his chair too. "Did you realize, at the time, just how much of idiots you were and that the 'Vantoss' twins are members of the Vargas family?"

Roderich didn't look phased, and he held Gilbert's eye contact—but Elizabeta let out a soft gasp, and almost immediately she pulled Roderich aside and whispered something to him. Roderich shook his head, and Gilbert could tell he wasn't impressed with the info, but Elizabeta ignored him and turned to Gilbert. "Vargas? Mafia—same people. It would make so much sense—Ludwig wouldn't believe it, that that sweet innocent boy is a mafia member—but" Gilbert started snickering and she immediately closed her mouth, and put on a professional and far more threatening air.

"Tell me," Elizabeta said sharply, "What else do you know?"

Gilbert smiled, he mentally framed himself as non-injured and smirking devilishly, but his smile was only ½ there, his jaw already flaring in pain from the movement now. _I've got you right where I want_. Is what he would say if he was actually sure of what the hell he was doing. Where was Gilbird? Where was Antonio and Francis? He needed that info—and they needed his.

"Tell me, where you think the Russki headed?" Gilbert countered, and it took Elizabeta by surprise.

Roderich cut in, "We're not on that conversation, Beilschidmt. Tell us—if these twins are the mafia twins you claim they are, explain how you managed to capture them—even by, absurdly, accident."

"They came willingly," Gilbert muttered, "Why do you think Lovino stayed with us. Feliciano just didn't want to jump out the window," Gilbert was quick to pounce the moment Roderich started writing.

"Tell me where Russki took them—he's planning something," Gilbert demanded, and Elizabeta shook her head.

"If we knew, would we be questioning you?" Elizabeta snapped.

"Elizabeta!" Roderich reprimanded.

"It's the truth," she muttered sullenly. "This whole situation is all bullshit. We have a world famous thief, supposedly some cartel member, and a low-level criminal with a history of being fired who kidnapped mafia twins and were caught in the fire of a serial killer." Roderich shook his head again and Elizabeta—who was clearly upset ignored him. She ignored the list of questions, tossed it down, and ran her hands through her hair.

"Who the hell out of the three of us is a cartel member?" Gilbert questioned.

"Antonio Carriedo," Roderich answered. He looked at the discarded questions, and sighed. Professionalism falling. He looked just as frustrated as Elizabeta. "Detective Honda, an independent investigator of him informed us of this."

Gilbert shook his head. "Nope. Antonio works his ass off at a coffee shop to pay for college," Gilbert argued and Roderich grimaced.

"What's the name of this coffee shop?" Roderich asked.

"Carriedo Coffee," Gilbert gave him and Roderich boredly typed it in his phone.

"It's been closed for years," Roderich announced and Gilbert's face fell.

"You're lying," Gilbert accused.

Roderich showed him his phone and truly, Antonio never worked as a coffee shop barista. Gilbert felt a little unsettled by that, Antonio was a sweetheart and saved puppies and turtles that wandered off. Gilbert frowned and then shook his head again. "He's still a better man than I am. I guarantee you," Gilbert muttered and Roderich shook his head and uncrumpled the paper. He scanned it and then sighed.

"What were you doing at a haunted house?"

"What everyone else does—literally going to it for fun."

"Where did you encounter Ivan Braginski?"

"A bar."

"Why were you at a bar?"

"To drink, what else?"

"Lovino is underage."

"He ordered himself alcohol with a fake ID he had."

"How did you attract Ivan's attention?"

"He creeped me out when I was in the bathroom taking a piss and I didn't pretend otherwise."

Roderich glowered at Gilbert, "Take this seriously."

"Make me."

Roderich looked to have snapped. His expression tightened, eyes hardening. He walked away from the table, cast a frustrated look at Gilbert and then rubbed his temple. Elizabeta, who had been listening in the corner, watched him. Gilbert studied her face and found it changed. Her stress had disappeared, and an unearthly calm possessing her. She took over as Roderich switched out tape recorders, took his own—and left the room. Elizabeta didn't seem bothered by it, and Gilbert curiously considered Elizabeta. What was her game? She was a small-town officer…

"I have a theory. Despite the credit Roderich gives you, or the level of threat Ludwig assumes you are—I feel like you and I both know the most criminal thing you did before this was the speeding tickets and probably pirating music."

"Yup, your point," Gilbert queried.

"That means you were worthless—even despite your rudeness. You were never the target of Ivan—he was watching you, because he didn't know who you were. My bet is—he let you get away at first.." She said it softly and without much else to it and Gilbert felt his face drain of color. That made more sense. A lot more sense. It also explains why the hell Ivan seemed pretty lucky to have someone he wanted revenge on at his dinner table by coincidence.

"Fuck," Gilbert muttered, "It never occurred to me. This is the first time Francis has been in the States for a year—Ivan was keeping tabs on him—but Alfred," Gilbert was jumping on his own theory train and Elizabeta pulled out the chair. She reached over and tapped the button on the tape-recorder so it was paused.

"Tell me how I can help you. Roderich is worried about arresting Francis and dangerous criminals, Ludwig is likely viewing this as some usual deal—but all I can see is that so many people seem to be in danger of dying right now—and that's my main concern. Help me see the bigger picture of why this is happening."

Gilbert leaned back in his chair and considered it—what the hell _was_ happening. Was the Road Trip not just bad luck infused—and truly just everything coming together. Was he just the final puzzle piece? If so, Gilbert thought this was kind of screwed up.

…

Gilbert wasn't the only one on the same page. Francis—reluctantly wearing some of what could marginally pass as fashionable from the Brit's wardrobe was studying some of the notes Arthur had and notes Arthur had gotten from Alfred's room that Alfred had been taking. Alfred had a probable guess to where Ivan would go after this city—and it was bugging him. The location Alfred had guessed was matching up with the American place with a very similar name to the place where he may have stolen something that in most circles wouldn't even land you a day in jail. He slept with the lover of Ivan. Multiple times. And then made off with half of his inheritance. In his defense, it wasn't really a dangerous thought to him. At the time Ivan was a brute, but hardly a serial killer. It was when he was younger too—and, yes, Francis regrets it. But not for the right reasons admittedly. His life was frivolous and heartbreak was a side effect.

He also slept with one of Ivan's sisters that one time—but he doesn't think Ivan knows about that. Francis reluctantly bit his tongue, accepting his fault in the situation, and rubbed the back of his head. Arthur had come out of the bathroom, fresh and dapper and Francis scanned him over, picked apart his outfit's flaws, and then hummed thoughtfully. "I have an idea. Did you grab Alfred's laptop?" Arthur nodded and passed it to him, curiously looking at what Francis had examined.

He scanned Alfred's background image, then his password entry screen. Francis doubted he had changed much. _HeroOfAmerica_. He was let in. Alfred's organization system was messy and files weren't named with any sort of valuable info—but he also was looking for a time frame. He had a feeling how this could have developed. Ivan knew where he was—but he also knew where Alfred and Matthew were—and Alfred kept in regular contact with his brother. And he had sent the boys a card when he returned to the United States, discreet with no return address or sender, but he just wanted to let them know….what exactly he wasn't sure of.

He went a year and a half back and he found it in what looked to be one of Alfred's random thought journals that he'd done since Francis met him. Conveinent, but often nonsensical and filled with pointless discussions about food. He hummed and scanned through it. He had a feeling knowing Alfred's penchant for the internet and love of talking that he would befriend just about anyone who let him talk about himself, his interests, and any random thought that crossed his mind. Alfred wasn't narcissitic, but if his teachers and foster home had half-a-brain they'd have gotten him tested for ADHD.

The question was—would Ivan bother with this himself, or would someone else be messaging Alfred and telling Ivan the information he needed. The issue is—how would Ivan know about Alfred and Matthew—they weren't connected by more than a hair, he made sure of that. He loved them too much to risk anything more. It was hard though, to imagine a man over six feet, with a questionable sanity would be just roaming around the normal web. Which means, either Alfred wasn't or a third person was a go-between for them. Or…Ivan truly could pretend to be a normal person.

"What's that look on your face—it's familiar," Arthur questioned and he peered over Francis's shoulder. "Alfred's journals—why would," Arthur paused and his mouth twisted in an upset realization and his eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it, gaping as if struck in the groin. He strode away from Francis and began rummaging across his desk, Francis watching warily from the corner of his eyes. Arthur seemed to be growing more and more upset until he found it—the trail of places Ivan had been.

Francis felt with a growing—but silent and stealthy, he couldn't let Arthur know—despair all of those places were familiar. Places he had been, people he still knew. Ivan had visited Sadik—among others. Ivan had been gathering info. Arthur didn't stop there. He shuffled through Alfred's mess of papers until he found Alfred's own tracking guesstimates. It was messily organized with lots of code words and color coding and patterns, but Arthur ignored it in favor of the shape of the paths.

Four cities ago was where Alfred started guessing correctly where Ivan was heading.

"That was two-and-a-half months ago," Arthur muttered. "Gods damn me, Francis I'm an idiot." Francis made a move to put a sympathetic hand on Arthur's shoulder, but Arthur was distracted and instead reached for Alfred's laptop. Francis handed it to him and watched as Arthur exasperatedly scanned the twelve-page document. Francis couldn't help but feel that Alfred and Gil could compete fairly for how much they wrote about their lives—but at the thought of Gil, Francis could feel a cold creeping up his back.

Arthur controlled 'f' and typed in "theory.". Nothing. "killer." Nothing. "Ivan." Nothing.

Francis had an idea of how Ivan found Alfred—and it was complete and utter accident, from what he was guessing. The end of spring fest—a time where peeks in adoption happened, summer opening up new doors for some kids—and closing and foreboding others. A chipper tradition was created to combat the feelings caused by it.

He could count on Alfred being two things: curious and too caring for his own good. The foster-home had a charity event every year—a carnival for foster kids—and based on what he read over Arthur's shoulder—Alfred went to it.

"Did he request vacation off to go back to our home town?" Francis asked.

"Yes—did he meet Ivan purposely, Francis?" Arthur questioned, fearing the worst and Francis shook his head.

"Non—Alfred loves volunteering at events for kids in need—being a role model," Francis offered, "but Ivan just happen to find out where I had been living in my younger days—I don't know how, even in a relatively small city—that's a big event. But knowing Alfred, he can turn a room of strangers into friends and yet-to-be-friends." Arthur had leaned back in the chair, his head brushing against Francis's jacket. The man sighed, and raised a hand up to his eyes as Francis started hearing the silent, but ugly sniffles. Arthur, who seldom cried in front of him, was.

"Francis, we tried protecting him," Arthur murmured. "Why? Why him?"

Francis sighed, and he leaned over Arthur and typed in his own name into ctrl-f. The page-auto scrolled down.

" _I miss Francis and Mattie at these carnivals—makes me remember when Francis would steal us stuff animals or tokens and say he won them our bought them. Or Franny's weird friends that came around and would cause enough chaos that no matter how much I sweet-talked the old hoot, we were kicked out. Still fun to play with the kids and work dunk-tank and the paint stations. I really hope some of these kids don't have to suffer anymore. I feel so bad._

 _I met a few people while there. The new person in charge of the foster-home is awesome—but between you and me—she's a bit…big…in the chest. She asked me since I was a detective—which I may have lied about—if I could talk to someone for her. A family member she didn't want to get a restraining order on, but he couldn't be near the home—he was too violent—but he meant well, she reassured me, and pointed him out. Dude was helping move some heavy stuff for the carnival. She had invited him because she didn't know who else and 'cause she really loved him. He had his face painted like a little bear to make him look less intimidating and little bear ears on—but honestly, I don't think the kids were any less intimidated. But I get why he was there. I get that, and I told her that. I understood. So, I did what a hero does and started chatting with him. He's creepy, but ookay. Like some teddy bear. Told me his name was "Ee-von." Little girly, but okay._

 _Met Evon at a café at the new foster-home's owner's request. Didn't know wtf to talk with him about, but he talked about being an orphan so I just jumped on that train too. Sad life, this guy. Such a shitty life—really. I think someone he loved died too—this guy just doesn't have any sunshines in his life. Glad I had Francis and Mattie there for me. No one ever was there for this dude. My blunt switch accidentally went on—and I may have missed the mood. I pointed that out—his sad life, not my inability to not be blunt—and said "Damn, you have a lonely and depressing life." and he sorta gave me this look—the one where people are trying to figure out whether to punch you or slap you—and then I realized I probably should have shut up. Like, maybe Mattie was right about the ADHD impulse thing. Whatever._

 _But the guy's a bit strange. He seemed to blow it off, laughed a little oddly, then let me talk about myself. I know—I know. Mattie says we shouldn't talk about ourselves and blab and blab and we gotta let the other person speak—but damn, no one ever just lets me talk. It felt good._

 _Gave him my number, said if he ever needed to talk and he agreed. Made him promise not to bother the foster home and poof! Easily solved. He left town and I saved the day._

 _Still feel bad for those kids—Evon was one of those kids that saw the bad end of the system."_

Arthur was full on crying—nose dribbling and loud sobbing wracking him. Francis immediately pulled him away from the laptop, set it on a desk, and held him. Francis just held him and wept silently, meeting his red eyes in the mirror in the corner of the room as he tried not to cry for Arthur's sake. Francis held him, but his mind was reeling. That was the beginning, but not the end of those conversations. He almost felt guilty, suggesting Arthur draw himself a bath, ordering the alcohol from room service, and then all but herding him into the bathroom and then taking a breath of relief when the door locked.

"Sorry, mon ami, but you wouldn't take well to the information." Francis with a grim expression began hunting through Alfred's journals—past nonsense and sensitive information he should probably have censored—until he found it.

" _So, Evon—Ivan as he corrected me—I've got a theory. Hear me out—it sounds crazy. But I think he's a serial killer—the serial killer—Ivan Braginski."_

Francis closed his eyes and checked the time stamp on the journal—five weeks ago. Alfred had known for far too long. He had a feeling what was coming next.

" _I don't want to tell Arthur—like, I just want him to think I'm a great detective. He always is criticizing me—he says it's for protection, but I just want to surprise him—show him I'm really-good, like he is. I'll just squeeze Ivan a little, get hints at where he's heading. But by what he asked of me before I knew—I have a hunch._

 _Francis._

 _I never knew Francis was such a big deal—wonder if Ivan would actually tell me, or if he'd see through it."_

Franics frowned, and he found a journal labeled "Freaking out! It was from four days ago—the beginning of their trip."

" _Yo! Yo. I'm scared shitless. Maybe I should tell Arthur. I don't know why, but I wass pissed at Arthur and Ivan was being too friendly, just sending dumb pictures of cute bears—because for some reason, I've become his only source of socialization—like goddamn, I'm pretty sure he only stops talking to me when he's murdering._

 _But I called Ivan out. Here's the text._

 **CaptAme:** stahp with the bears, im doin hw

 **Broginski:** {New Multimedia Message}

 **CaptAme:** 4 a serial killer u sure are annoying

 **Broginski:**.

 **CaptAme:** Yeah, I know. You're Ivan Braginski.

 **Broginski:** :)

 **CaptAme:** And you're going after Francis—why?

 **Broginski:** :)

 **CaptAme:** Stop it.

 **Broginski:** :(

 **CaptAme:** Why?

 **Broginski:** How long have you known?

 **CaptAme:** Mine first.

 **Broginski:** :( Fredka

 **CaptAme:** I know where you are—stfu. I'll call cops on you.

 **Broginski:** :| Jones, detective assistant, to Arthur Kirkland. Your brother, Matthew—Matvej in my language. He's studying in the US for a trip—he's staying in your unused apartment while you an Kirkland look for…me? Da?

… _I don't know what to reply. Fucking regret. Shoulda just let him keep sending the bear pics. He's still sending messages._

 **Broginski:** :(

 **Broginski:** :)

 **Broginski:** :)

 **Broginski:** :) Francis is back in the states?…Wouldn't it be nice if we shared our new friendship with him?

 **CaptAme:** kay. You got me. Im not calling the cops, just go back to sending bear pics.

 **Broginski:** {New Media Message}

 **CaptAme:** Ivan, that's not a bear.

 **Broginski:** Nyet?

 **Broginski:** {New Media Message}

 **CaptAme:** Ivan. Don't. don't. please fucking don't.

 **Broginski:** {New Media Message}

 **Broginski:** It is small and cute like bear? America has bears, da?

 **CaptAme:** {New Media Message}

 **CaptAme:** According to Gil—who is one of Franny's friends from high-school—they're on a road trip. Now get the hell out of my apartment.

 **Broginski:** :)

 **Broginski:** I will plan a dinner—you and Matvej are invited.

 **Broginski:** :D

 **Broginski:** I'll keep in touch. Good night, Fredka.

 **Broginski:** {New Media Message}

 _If I had more brains I would turn him in. I really should, but he knows way too much about me and Mattie. Sorry, Francis—but I can't put Mattie in danger. It's not like the police can do anything. Only other option is find him before he finds us. I'll kill him. Just need to pin him down—he's planning something—maybe just revenge—but people don't become serial killers for one revenge."_

Francis closed his eyes and silently counted what blessings he still had. He knew he had took too long reading it—that he should have the laptop aside before Arthur exited the bathroom, but Francis just kept looking—staring at the text. The sound of water draining from the bathroom stirred him and Francis took a deep breath, closed the laptop and slid it back under Arthur's other paperwork.

Arthur came out—dressed in his slacks and his shirt. He looked better, more relaxed and Francis greeted him with a gentle smile. Arthur nodded to him, but then sighed.

"Thank-you, Francis. I'm sorry you had to see me like that—I…it just. Alfred's far too trusting, but I never imagined he'd be deceived by a serial killer," Arthur said. He sat on the bed, sighing. "What shall we do?"

Francis bit his lip—and considered his options. If he told Arthur, Arthur would be likely to grieve and become distracted by it—but it would make it easier to explain some conclusions he was going to jump to. However, if he didn't tell Arthur—Arthur would catch on he was hiding information—but wouldn't know why or what it was.

"We head to the last place Alfred guessed—and we prepare for the worst," Francis said, and Arthur looked at him grimly.

…

 **Ah. Ahhhhh. It's been so long. We got it. A plot twist. But there's still a road trip to be had—and next chapter we take it back to the road. Difference is—four different cars—but hey, it's still on a road and a trip.**

 **Next chapter, prepare for some rule-breaking from the least likely people, the mafia** _ **really**_ **getting involved, and Feliciano being less cute and sweet—but still cute.**


End file.
